“Shit,” I moaned, unable to pick my head up off the rug. I just stayed there, staring across the room to the door that danced in triplicate in front of me. Was it locked? Was this my room? Was Christian really giving out bad vibes? My fingers raked the brown pile like I was searching for answers among the threads.
When I came-to, I was still on the floor, but huddled up against the closet. Poking into the small of my back was the empty bottle. What liquid remained soaked into the rug, my pants and my underwear. The room smelled like my grandmother’s sofa after a Christmas party.
The spilled bourbon was the least of my worries. My head pounded with a million hammers when I sat up. It felt like two bands crisscrossed my forehead and were held with pushpins at each brow. There was a matching set of these pulsating bands at the back of my head. My stomach was minced with an alcohol emulsion that neither stayed nor went. The contents just sat there, threatening upheaval. Truth be told, it sounded like a good idea to barf. But first I had to change my clothes and wipe-up the spill.
Bending over the wet rug was more than I could take, so I covered it with towels and laundry, and distributed several poofs of body spray around the area. Then I changed, sprayed myself with the body spray, and hid the empty booze bottle under the bed.
The vomit wouldn’t come, though, even after tickling my throat with a toothbrush. Nope, I did not throw-up until I smelled the eggs my mom was cooking for breakfast. In the hall. On the wall. And it smelled just like, if not worse, than the spill in my room.
There was no place to hide after I got sick. Mom held her breath when she smelled it, fetched me a damp towel and sent me to the bathroom for a wipe-down. I dunked my head in the sink and prayed to God that I wouldn’t get in trouble.
“Rebecca Marie Ionesco! Come out here! Now!” seethed my dad. I walked nimbly into the hall, which was now clean and dry. The smell of bourbon was still there, but faint. My dad pointed to the dining room, and then a chair. He had a way without words. My mom was washing the yuck off her hands, and then she joined us.
“I think you know what happened,” he said, pressing his fingertips together until they turned white.
“I threw up.”
“You threw up alcohol. You’ve been drinking, and we want to know where you got it.” Would it have been wise to say that I got it from their stash? If I told them that, the rest of the stash would disappear and there’d be nothing to fall back on.
“Someone gave it to me,” I said, hoping that the questions would go no further.
“Who?”
“This girl. She’s friends with Allison. I don’t really know her.” It was hard to think fast when I could barely think at all. I just wanted to die.
“And you’re not going to. I want you to stay away from whoever this girl is… and Allison, and anyone else associated with that crowd.”
“But what about Christian? I’m supposed to go somewhere with him today,” I said, wondering if he would call me like he said he would.
“Christian is fine. Just don’t go near those girls. If you do, you’re grounded.”
“I don’t think she should go anywhere, hun,” my mom interrupted, adding to the fun. “She doesn’t know how dangerous drinking is.”
My mom crouched down next to me for a heart-to-heart. It was all I could do to keep from passing out over the hangover and the interrogation stress.
“Your uncle Dave died from drinking. His liver rotted away. He was also in jail God-knows how many times. Don’t go down that path,” she warned. Her older brother, David the Great, had been the apple of my grandparents’ eye, except for the drinking habit that killed him. My mom usually brought him up if there was a drunk driving story in the news, to make a point that I shouldn’t drink. Given that she and my dad had plenty of wine every night, I summed it up as a case of do as I say, not as I do.
“I’m not Uncle Dave and I’m not going to be, okay? I just wanted to try it and I don’t like it. I’m done.”
“Okay, then. Never again, Rebecca,” said my dad upon leaving the table. I remained seated because my butt felt like lead and my head like a cinder block. If I fell asleep at the table I would probably get in more trouble, so I dragged my tail back to my room and checked my phone.
It was no surprise that Christian had not called, so I went to bed.
/////
I was stretched out on the bed, my arm covering my swollen face and about five hours into my recovery nap. I almost fell again, startled by the ringtone coming out of nowhere.
“Let’s go for a drive.” Christian sounded neither excited nor bored with his idea. A drive could mean several things.
It took every bit of willpower to shower, dress and put on makeup. I poked myself in the left eye with the mascara wand, and got lipstick on my teeth. I was never good with beauty products, but because I was now with the “in crowd” I had to look the part, even if you could tell I was hung-over and puffy underneath the paint.
My parents were wary of the “drive” I was going to take, insisting that I return home by 9:00 p.m. and that I check-in well before that. I promised, promised, promised I would be home sooner, and that we weren’t going anywhere near the forbidden people. If they only knew how much a part of those people that Christian was, I’d never be let out of the house or Christian would be banished from my life as well.
The sun was setting when Christian picked me up. He stood on the front porch, swinging his keys. As usual, he opened my door first, and waited to back out of the driveway until I had my seatbelt fastened. But unlike so many of our previous dates, there was something missing. The motions were there, but his heart and soul were gone. I distracted myself by counting the number of things shaped like circles and squares on his dashboard. When that was done I counted how many streetlights lined the street.
“Where are we going?” I asked, hoping he’d thought of a destination.
“Don’t know. Let’s just see where we end up,” he said, his jaw tense and eyes straight on the road. I held my hands in my lap, like I was in church. We got on the main road and appeared headed for the beach. As a child, my parents would set-up camp along the cool blue waters. It was a favorite spot for well-known people in the area, and with the Ritz Carlton sitting above the beach on the bluff, there was a lot of money walking on the sand.
“Are we going to the beach? Maybe we could take a walk.” It seemed like a good idea. A long stroll would clear-up any issues Christian was having. Plus, it was exercise and even though I felt like a wringed-out sponge, I was game for keeping in shape.
“Yeah,” was all he said, pulling into the lot and parking the car under a pine tree. He rolled down the windows and turned off the engine. Then we sat.
Christian had this silly look on his face that was both torn and relieved. He smiled but averted his eyes, the kind of appearance someone gets when they’ve got news for you. Like “the cat died” or “your father wants to speak with you when you get home.”
“Beck, you know how much I like you,” he began before hesitating. “But I’ve got a lot of stuff going on this year that’s important to me.”
It felt strange that he didn’t say how much he loved me. It could’ve been a slip, easily forgiven, so I nodded. “Like getting into the school you want.”
“Yes, and playing a good season. This year could make or break me, and I’ve got to make it. There’s no other choice.”
“Okay, so make it,” I said, unclear as to where I fit into the make-or-break scheme of things.
“I won’t have the time to date.”
Excuse me? No time to date? We weren’t dating. We were a couple. A couple who’d shared everything with each other, including our bodies, even if it was only one time. This wasn’t dating. This was serious.
“What? You won’t have time to date? Is that all I am to you? A date? I thought I was something more.”
“You’re more, Beck. What I mean is that I need all the time that I have to get it right. Having a girlfriend d
oesn’t fit into the picture.”
“I’m sure partying at Hillman’s and driving around with your fucking wine jug will still fit into the picture,” I said, my throaty voice bordering on a roar. I was also sure that Christian wouldn’t be able to deny that he had needs like any normal boy.
I wanted to be mad. More than mad, I wanted to fucking seethe lava out of my pores, and pound my fists into his dashboard and his jaw. Instead, tears streamed down my face and neck. Snot bubbled out of my right nostril. And I was drooling more than a dog sitting next to a buffet.
Christian reached over and pushed my hair back off my face. His touch was so tender, like he felt sorry for hurting me. If he was so sorry, he wouldn’t be doing that.
“I don’t know what I did. I thought everything was great.”
“I still think you’re great, but I have to go do other things. It’s not you, it’s me.”
My brain told me to run away. If I could jet from the car, I would be free from this nightmare. If I could fill my lungs with sea air, I’d be able to handle it. If I could have a bottle of wine right now, I’d forget what was happening.
“Just let me out here, Christian.” I was several miles from home, the sun was almost gone and I would be in the near-empty parking lot of a vast beach where anything could happen.
“I’ll take you home.”
“No,” I said, pulling the door handle. Before I got out, I let my pathetic little self make a request.
“Can I have one last kiss?”
Christian smiled and seemed okay with the gesture, leaning over to kiss me soft on the mouth. There was nothing more, and without trying to persuade me to let him take me home, he started the car. I got out and stood there, and then decided to turn my back and start walking toward the beach path. My mind insisted it was like a movie, where the heroine walks away with her pride intact into the sunset, not looking back.
I marched straight down the many stairs of the “thousand steps” beach until I hit the sand. The air was now damp with ocean humidity, which clung to my clothes and hair. I decided to head south, carrying my shoes and crying out loud. Nobody could hear. Nobody cared. I was alone, and I wasn’t looking back. The only thing I was looking forward to was a drink.
Chapter 11
“You know you want it. You always have,” he said, pulling at my underwear. His hands frantically searched for a magical way to remove the unwanted piece of fabric. I tried to bring my knees up to his groin, but he put them back down with his powerful legs.
“No! You’re not going anywhere.”
How many times had I avoided a bad situation? By the skin of my teeth I had gotten out of one close call after another. All I’d wanted on this night was to get drunk and see Christian, even if he was with another girl.
I heard a tear and knew that the barrier between myself and Hillman was now gone. So I held my legs together as tight as possible.
“Open up,” he demanded when he couldn’t get my legs to move. My strength was returning, and I was able to hold back against Hillman’s thrust. He grew angrier with each time that he didn’t succeed in entering me.
≈
Alexandra had half a leg missing, but she was able to get around with the help of a prosthesis. Part of her right arm was also mangled, leaving three fingers and a portion of her palm. The nails on these fingers were painted bright pink.
The girl also chain smoked, and wasn’t shy about it. It seemed strange to be on the doorstep of relationship hell one minute, and partying with a shark attack victim the next.
She’d been surfing in Mexico two years earlier when a shark mistook her for a seal, ripped her off her board and mauled her in the water. She lost a lot of blood, and barely made it to the hospital. When she woke up, she swore she could still feel her missing limbs.
“They call it phantom limb syndrome. I still feel everything, you know.” She kicked up her stubby leg as if to wiggle her invisible toes.
We were standing on the patio of her family’s beachfront home. Only a few hours earlier I’d been crying a river on the sand. Alexandra and her brother, James, came up to ask what was wrong. She said it was her 19th birthday and that I should come celebrate. Next thing I knew, I was in this fancy house with 50 people drinking and living it up. Talk about divine intervention.
I had checked-in with my parents after Alexandra convinced me to go with her. For all they knew, I was still with Christian and would be home at the time promised. It felt good that nobody knew where I was except me.
Of course, Alexandra wanted to know why I was walking on the beach and crying. From start to finish, I told her about Christian and how I thought his friends had something to do with it all. She kept a good ear on the conversation, feeding me beers as needed while I lamented about the singular sex I’d had with Christian and that his dad was my dentist.
“That sounds crazy… your boyfriend’s dad looks in your mouth and has no clue where it’s been!”
After my speech about Christian, I decided to fill my stomach and broken heart with whatever I could find. And there was lots of that… beer and wine, but also Jello shooters, vodka and tequila. James showed me how to drink a tequila shot, lick the salt off my hand and suck on a lime wedge. It tasted heavenly, and even more important, it made me feel like I was in heaven.
I wandered back to the beach with a drink in my hand, holding my arms up to the late summer night sky, praising the Lord. I was thankful for my new friends. I loved that they saved me in my hour of need. And I especially loved that they got me good and drunk when I needed it most.
Just as quickly as I’d gone through my list of things to be thankful for, I fell to my knees in the sand and cried. It had only been a few hours, but it felt like a million lifetimes since I was in the arms of Christian. When he loved me and told me so, and he stroked my hair, my face, my body. Now I was alone, and with the new school year starting in a few days, all I could think about was how it would be to not be with him.
/////
If you’ve ever tried putting a key in a lock when you can’t see straight, you’d know how it was for me when I got home from Alexandra’s. It was almost 11, and I’d rolled out of her Mercedes into my driveway, unable to find my keys in my purse. After several sweeps with my hand, my keys stabbed me under my fingernails. I tried to be quiet, to sneak in, to be smart about it, but the lock kept moving away from my key. I crouched down and looked at it, trying to steady my vision and aim the key with my eyes. At first I thought I had the wrong one and panicked, trying all five of my keys until I went back to the first. It went in and opened the door.
The house was dark as I made a swift turn down the hall and into my room. It was at least an hour before I snuck into the bathroom to brush my teeth and pee — I wanted to make sure mom and dad were truly unaware that I’d only been there a short time. Concurrently, I wanted my mom to comfort and hold me, and ask what happened. That wasn’t going to occur, so I buried myself under the covers and found a few more gallons of saltwater to pour out as I recalled the day.
“I’ve gotta finish that fucking mural,” I said, slapping my forehead hard.
Dr. Rusch was expecting me in the morning, and since it seemed just a bit obvious that Christian wasn’t going to take me there, I’d have to get a ride with my mom or dad. When I thought about being in his office and having to play nice, put on a smile and hide my puffy red eyes behind a good spackling, my body squeezed together in a cringe.
It could have been the booze, exhaustion, or a crazy combination of both that caused me to sleep through my alarm clock. When I finally woke, it was an hour past the time I should have been on my knees with a paintbrush. Instead, I was on my back, stuck to the warm, humid sheets. The sun blasted through the blinds, adding even more misery to the hothouse that I slept in. I was surprised that Dr. Rusch hadn’t called to ask where I was.
Jenna had left me a voicemail, complaining that we hadn’t hung out in a week and that she was worried about me. I would have to
tell her about Christian, and not only her, but also Allison. Our friendship may have been little more than necessary because of my boyfriend and booze, but now, more than ever, it would be important because it would keep me linked to him. Through Allison I could go to the same parties, games, and dances. I was going to be seen, whether Christian liked it or not. Then maybe he’d regret his decision.
For now, though, I had to get a ride with my mom to the mural job and she wondered why Christian wasn’t playing chauffeur like usual.
“He has a training session this morning,” I said, my lie whistling across my tongue and through my teeth. I called Dr. Rusch to explain that I was on my way.
“Rusch Dental Group. How may I direct your call?” Bettina put me through to
Dr. Rusch. He couldn’t have cared less about my tardiness and was obviously clueless as to the life-altering events of the previous night. I wanted to tell him that his son had broken my heart and left me on the beach, alone and scared. He hadn’t cared enough to insist that I get back in the car, if only for our last ride home together. But what good would that do? It would only tie me that much closer to the immediate pain.
At least the fraidy-cat room gave me some privacy. I didn’t feel like seeing
Dr. Rusch or Bettina every frigging moment I was there.
Painting the mural numbed my mind. Each brush stroke was long, slow and connected to my soul. The color that I placed on the wall was like cementing a part of me into Christian’s world, whether he wanted to be with me or not. Kind of like the time I saw Jenna’s cat, Toby, peeing on his new litter box, I was leaving my mark.
My dad picked me up just before lunch. He was cheery and relaxed, having spent the morning on the golf course and away from my mom. Everybody needed a break from her at some time.
“Are you feeling okay, hun? You look tired.”
I brought my hand to my face, checking the war paint to make sure it was still good and thick. He didn’t say anything about my coming home late.
Swell Page 7
