Swell

by Rieman Duck, Julie

  “What do you want me to do? Give him a massage? He’s nothing more than a project partner. I’ve had tons of them.”

  “Whatever.” I didn’t want to encourage a fruitless conversation.

  “That’s right — whatever. I don’t like your buddy.”

  “That’s your decision, Christian. Like it or not, he is what he is.” I crossed my arms as Christian let out a sigh and changed direction.

  “Are you up to getting something to eat at Bill’s later?” Bill’s was the pre-party hangout for the popular crowd. Like weeds, the kids would take over the small burger joint and lounge around the tables making noise. I wasn’t overly thrilled with the idea of going.

  “Can we just go for a walk at the harbor instead?”

  He sighed and smiled at me. “If that makes you feel more comfortable… we can get something to eat down there.”

  He gave me a quick kiss before dropping me off a block away from home. Even though my mom was the wiser about me and Christian, my dad still didn’t know anything, and I wasn’t about to give him any clues.

  I took a meager dinner into my room and dumped the food into a trash bag before my escape. It was just a short walk around the corner to Christian, who planted a juicy kiss on my mouth.

  “Here’s something for you.” He offered a sip off the wine bottle in his hand. I took a big swig, the now-familiar burn coating my throat and entering my bloodstream.

  “To the harbor?” he asked. I nodded, and we sped away.

  As we approached our destination, I thought I saw a dark car turning with every move we made. I held my breath and kept an eye on the side mirror until I saw the car turn onto a street just before we reached the parking lot.

  Cool, damp air clung to my hair as Christian and I walked past the slumbering boats. The clinking of mast lines rang across hundreds of sailboats, calling to each other in the night. We were full with a cheap taco dinner and an even cheaper bottle of wine.

  Christian wanted to buy ice cream, but when he went to pull his wallet, it wasn’t there.

  “I left it in the car.”

  “I’ll go get it,” I offered.

  “I don’t want you out there alone.”

  “Come on, it’s a public place,” I whined. “Give me your keys.”

  It was just a simple trip to the car. He gave me a slight smile, as if he wasn’t too sure about me doing that.

  “Come find me if I don’t return in five minutes,” I joked.

  The moonless sky made the stars glitter high and bright above me as I walked to the Partymobile. I couldn’t help but sing my favorite childhood tune.

  “Twinkle-twinkle little star…” Christian’s beast of an SUV stood out from the compacts that dotted the parking lot.

  I fetched the wallet and turned to close the car door when I felt something touch my shoulder. A chill went up my spine, the gift of fear in my gut signaling that I was not alone. I moved Christian’s keys between my fingers like brass knuckles and turned around.

  A dark silhouette stood in front of me, highlighted in the dimness of a flickering parking lot light.

  “Beck,” the gravely voice whispered as the figure stepped toward me. The overpowering scent of cologne was just one of many indicators that this was Jeff Hillman. I backed against the Partymobile and held the keys in front of me, ready to strike.

  “You’re not supposed to come near me.”

  “I know, but I can’t help it. You call to me.” Another step forward and I felt his body heat against mine. Memories of being crushed under his weight flooded my mind and before I could react with my fistful of keys, Hillman had my arms up against the SUV.

  His breath was hot on my neck as he ran his tongue down the side of my throat and back again. I couldn’t swallow or scream. The keys clattered in their descent to the asphalt.

  I managed to eke out a sentence. “What… do you… want?”

  Hillman’s tongue stopped its trail blazing. “I want you to like me. But you’re a stubborn girl. If you’d learned to like me before… before everything… it would be different now.” My legs flailed around his as he held me up.

  “You’re making the wrong choice, Beck.” His hand slid down my arm and touched my throat with a delicate force. I was afraid he’d wrap it around my neck and hold me up that way, only to become a rag doll with no breath in its body.

  Fake it. Fake it.

  Without thought, my body switched into responsive mode and began lying to Hillman. My legs stopped moving and started snaking the backs of his thighs, pressing into them with every muscle like a python squeezing its prey. I allowed my face to move toward his, as if thirsting for a kiss. There were no thoughts, only protective actions.

  “Hmmm. It’s never too late, Beck,” he said, loosening his hand from my throat and running it down my lower back, pushing his hips into mine. He bent his mouth toward my lips and with a powerful lock, kissed me. His tongue bristled at the back of my throat, and I tried not to gag or think about what was happening.

  It could have been 20 seconds or two minutes, but for a time Hillman seemed convinced of my submission. Like a movie, I watched from a distance as our bodies became one against Christian’s car. When Hillman stopped to take a deep breath, his body separated from mine and I was free.

  I ran like a lion was chasing me across the parking lot, toward the row of restaurants, down the sidewalk and the sleeping boats, looking for the ice cream shop. Christian was jogging toward me, alarmed that I hadn’t returned. I flew into his arms and sobbed, out of breath but not out of words.

  “Hil… Hillman. He…”

  “Hillman? At the car?” I gave a shaky nod, feeling Hillman’s ghost fingers on my throat.

  “Go back to the store and wait.” He ran away at a lightning pace.

  I sat on a stool under the fluorescent lights, my muscles quivering from the adrenaline rush. I shook from head to toe.

  “Are you okay?” asked the girl behind the counter. I turned to face the brunette in a pink uniform, not much older than me and probably working her first job.

  “Yes.” She smiled and went back to wiping down the counter.

  I debated calling the police. I was told to call if Hillman talked to me. He’d done much more than that, and I should have called, but my hand stayed balled in a fist on top of my phone. I didn’t want anyone to know I’d snuck out and that I’d been drinking.

  Christian returned, sweat pouring down the front of his shirt, and sat next to me. He’d found his keys, but not Hillman.

  “I ran all over the fucking harbor. He must have split.” He looked at my phone. “Did you call the cops?”

  “No.”

  “You need to call the cops. Get his ass back in jail. This will nail him.”

  “I’m scared.”

  He put his arm around me. “You should be. He’s sick. And nobody is going to take my girl. Nobody.” Christian slipped the phone from my hand and made the call.

  For the rest of the night, his mood was off. We left the harbor shortly after Hillman’s appearance and went up to the water tower for another bottle of wine to numb the evening away. We didn’t talk a lot, and didn’t kiss at all. It felt so familiar to me.

  Before I went to sleep that night, I found the purple stone in my pocket and put it on my nightstand. The light from my digital clock made the rock glisten, and I kept my eyes on it until they shut on their own.

  /////

  I spent the weekend wondering how far Hillman would go. A piece of paper hadn’t stopped him. Being arrested for violating the restraining order wouldn’t keep him for long, and I would need something to help me feel safe.

  “Here it is,” said my mom, handing me a black canister of pepper spray.

  My dad had other things in mind.

  “I used to shoot one as a boy. There’s nothing wrong with exercising your rights,” he said in a tense voice, perusing a copy of Guns & Ammo. He shouted out names like Luger and Glock. It didn’t make sense, except that
he was just reacting to the primal need to protect his daughter.

  “I’ll keep this in my purse.” I plopped the pepper spray into my bag and felt a little relief from worry.

  I got even more relief later when I pimped a twelver and had the audacity to sit behind Tony’s and drink it.

  Chapter 23

  The project that Jesse and I worked on was so good that Mr. Stanley entered it in the Gallow Committee Art Show. He was so thrilled that he had both of us stand in front of the class holding up the darn thing. My cheeks felt hot with flames, but Jesse was as cool as a cucumber.

  Apparently, if our piece won the Gallow, we’d be sent to the county art show. If that worked out, then Jesse and I would travel to some kind of regional thing. Sort of like working your way toward Miss America, without the bathing suit.

  A wave of cool relief spread across my sweaty brow when we sat down. Never before had my nerves acted-up while receiving kudos for my artwork.

  “Easy there, Rebecca. You looked like you were going to barf all over the front row.” Jesse reached into his pocket and I gave him a look that said I will light it on fire if you eat it. He pulled his empty hand out and placed it on the table.

  Jessee smiled and his warm eyes sparkled. “Don’t worry, I won’t push you… too much, anyway.” It felt like he was thinking about the other night and whether that could happen again.

  “Thanks. I can’t deal with that right now.”

  “What can you deal with, then?”

  “You, obviously.”

  He gave me a big grin. “I feel so special.”

  “You must be, to get into the Gallow Show,” I said, thinking of the snobby elitists that ran the event, dressed to perfection and not a hair out of place.

  “The name makes me feel like playing Hangman.” He paused and looked at me through his bangs. “Hey, speaking of hanging, do you wanna hang out tomorrow night?”

  My stomach went from churning with worry to flipping with delight. I tried to keep a straight face.

  “Sure. Do you have something in mind?”

  “There’s an acoustic trio that plays at the bookstore on Tuesdays.” He strummed an air guitar and mouthed a song. The image of running wild and silly through the tall aisles of books, drinking lattes, and listening to music sounded great.

  “Nobody’s ever asked me to the bookstore before.”

  “I’d like to think nobody like me has ever asked you anywhere before.” He was dead-serious, his eyes changing into something so deep that I wanted to swim in them.

  Jesse was walking me out, cracking more jokes about hanging, when Christian approached me. As if it wasn’t enough that Christian knew who Jesse was, but to see me walk out with the guy, laughing, made him seethe.

  Christian wrapped his arm around my shoulders and shot Jesse a fucking get lost look before he steered me away.

  “Your art buddy seems a little too friendly, Beck.” He swept me along at a rampant pace. I looked behind us and saw Jesse several steps behind. His eyes met mine with a look of concern. I gave him the a-okay behind my back.

  I tried bringing the conversation around. “Our project is going into the Gallow Show!” He stared straight ahead, his mind refusing to break from its anger.

  Christian had never seen what I worked on with Jesse, and he didn’t seem too concerned about seeing it now. “But that’s done, right?”

  “Yeah. Now we’ve got to represent it in the show. And if we win that, we’ll travel to the county show and---”

  “I don’t want you traveling anywhere with him.”

  I stopped and gave him a hard look. “Christian, it’s an art contest, for God sakes. That’s all!” I looked behind me. Jesse was gone.

  “Beck, I know guys. That one’s interested.”

  I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “I don’t think so. And even if he was, that doesn’t mean I’m interested in him, okay?” Oh, how I loved that line. It excited me because it wasn’t true.

  “I still don’t like it.” He shook his head and looked at his watch. “Do you wanna go to my house tonight?”

  That meant time alone with him and the liquor cabinet. It might also mean a little broom closet action.

  “Yeah. Pick me up at eight.” I pressed a long, melting kiss to his lips that held the promise of what was to come.

  I met Jenna in the parking lot to wait for our ride home. She didn’t speak to me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She crossed her arms and looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Fair enough.

  I stood with my hand in my pocket, tumbling Jesse’s stone through my fingers. That kind of time-filler only worked for so long.

  “Are you pissed about something?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Well? Is it me or someone else?”

  She finally looked at me. “Oh, it’s you!”

  “Now what, Jenna?” I’d heard it all before. She didn’t like me drinking. She didn’t like the crowd I hung with. And she hated that Christian was back.

  “I don’t see you trying at all to deal with things. I’m tired of watching you go down the toilet!”

  It sounded like she’d been thinking about it morning, noon, and night. “God, when did you decide this?”

  “It’s been a long time. Do know what the hardest part about all this is, Beck?”

  “No, I don’t. What?”

  “It’s that I care about you, and you don’t even care about yourself.”

  With perfect timing, my mom pulled up and we entered the car with little else to say. My mom looked at me in the rear view mirror and asked fluffy questions about our day. I talked about the Gallow Show, and Jenna chattered about trying out for the school musical.

  When we dropped her off, Jenna said goodbye to my mom and shot straight up her driveway.

  “Goodbye, I guess,” I said under my breath.

  I slipped into the front seat and buckled my belt.

  “Is there something wrong between you two?” asked my mom.

  “Sure seems like it.”

  “You didn’t even talk to each other. That never happens.”

  “I guess it happens now. Better get used to it.” My neck was hot as I thought about Jenna making my problems her own. I cared very much about myself, thank you. More than that, I cared about others and that’s what really counted, right?

  Even as a child, making people happy was my number one goal. I was out to collect smiles and win the hearts of everyone. The rare occasions when someone didn’t respond positively were dark moments. I’d obsess about what I’d done wrong, and at 15, I still did.

  Never, though, did I put people pleasing ahead of caring about myself. Well, almost never. At least I think so. With so much going on, I rarely kept track of who was doing what for whom. If that was what pissed Jenna off, then it was her problem.

  /////

  I was used to Christian’s house as a quiet place for our rendezvous. Tonight all the lights were on, with the television barking out Wheel of Fortune.

  Dr. Rusch sat in the den, shuffling through paperwork in front of the TV. The smell of cooked meat wafted through the air. Christian didn’t raise an eyebrow that his parents were home.

  I immediately worried about whether I’d get my booze fix or not. If I was, when would that be? I wanted it before dinner, because food slowed things down. But what if that was the only time I could cop a buzz? And God forbid, what if Christian didn’t have a jug of reserve in his room?

  Christian walked me into the kitchen. “I thought you’d like to do something a little different,” he said.

  His mom held a giant roasting pan between her padded hands, an apron like Betty Crocker covering her stomach.

  “Rebecca! It’s so nice to have you over to dinner! I hope you like pot roast.” She held up the meat.

  “She makes a great roast.” Christian eyed the dripping red flesh.

  “… when I do make one. First time this year.” She we
nt to the stove and stirred something, and then began chopping carrots at the sink.

  Christian stood in front of the open fridge, eyeing the stash. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “Sure.” Just like when I first visited his house, he got out two glasses. This time, he filled them with 7-Up. I gave a half-smile and gingerly sipped at the disappointing beverage.

  “Let’s say hi to my Dad.” Christian took my hand and we went to the den.

  Dr. Rusch looked up, slid his glasses to the top of his head, and threw me a loving grin.

  “Rebecca! My favorite artist! It’s great to have you over. Did you see what we’re having?” He rubbed his chest-belly.

  “Yeah. It looks great!” My heart raced at the thought of putting sinewy flesh into my stomach before I’d had anything proper to drink. If only I had something to nip on.

  “Mom, how long till dinner?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  Christian looked at me with a knowing eye.

  “Do you want to go outside? The sky’s really clear tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  He was right about the sky. All the stars seemed extra twinkly, and a light wind made the trees chatter like a million maracas. We went past the pool and around the side of the house. Christian stepped into the bushes. He stood up and waved me over.

  “I have something for you.” He handed me a bottle of clear liquid.

  “Vodka?”

  “Yep. They won’t be able to smell it.”

  I would have my cake and eat it too!. The vodka, although plain, did not disappoint. After what must have been two or three shots-worth, I passed the bottle back to Christian, who put back that much and more.

  “Here’s some gum.” He handed me a stick.

  “I thought it doesn’t smell.”

  “Just in case.” He had his bases covered. Christian returned the bottle to its hiding place and we went back inside. The undeniable warm glow of relief spread through my body and instantly enhanced my mood.

  As much as I wanted to like pot roast, I had a hard time eating it. Beef was the meat before it became jerky, and that alone made me gag. I took itty-bitty bites and hid most of it under my mashed potatoes, the way anorexics did. There was salad and bread, and I used that to fill my stomach.