What Unbreakable Looks Like

by Kate McLaughlin

  I would laugh if we didn’t have an audience. Seriously, people are standing around with their carts, watching like this is a live showing of their favorite soap opera. The whole town will be talking about it tonight. There will be even more gossip at school.

  Suddenly, Krys is right in Mrs. Fischer’s face. “Don’t you fucking talk to her.” I blink. I have never seen Krys so angry. “But you had better talk to your lawyer, because we plan to file a civil suit against you and the other parents for what your sons did to Alexa.”

  Mrs. Fischer recoils as though Krys had punched her. Her face is white. “What?” That’s what I want to ask.

  Krys puts her hand on my back and pushes me forward, away from Mike’s mother. She puts herself between us. “Your son is the one who has no concept of appropriate behavior, and it’s easy to see where he got it. If you or he come near my niece again, I’ll slap you so hard with a restraining order, all that surgery you had will come undone. Now, back the fuck off.”

  I watch in awe as she does just that. Krys gives me another gentle push, and I start walking again. She glares at the people who continue to gawk at us, and one by one, they slink away. I want to hug her so bad, but I don’t want to harsh her badass moment. I also feel like crying, so I stare at the handle of the cart and push forward.

  “Are we really going to sue?” I ask when we’re alone in the cereal aisle.

  She’s still vibrating with anger as she grabs a box of Kashi. “We are. Someone needs to pay for what happened.” She puts her arm around me as she tosses the box into the cart. “And this time it’s not going to be you.”

  * * *

  “Oh, grape!” Elsa grabs the bottle of soda from my hands as I walk through her front door. One of the things she and I have in common is our love of sweet, non-fruit fruit sodas.

  “And popcorn,” I say, closing the door behind me. I let Isis off her leash, and she takes off to find her family. “Anyone else here yet?”

  “Nope.” She opens the fridge. “You’re the first.” As the fridge door shuts, she whirls around. “How do I look?”

  I give her a once-over. Her hair is cute, her makeup perfect. She’s wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt of Disney princesses that she probably picked up in a kids’ store years ago. “I’d do you.”

  She laughs and throws her arms around me, giving me a quick squeeze. “I’m so freaking nervous.”

  “You’ll be fine. She’s already half in love with you.”

  “You think?”

  “Bitch, please.” I smile. “I don’t think she would have said yes otherwise.” Then again, what the hell do I know about romance?

  She hops up onto the counter and looks at me. “So, what’s the story with you and Zack?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how protective he’s being of you.”

  I blink. “He’s being a friend.”

  “He’s being more than a friend.”

  I stare at her. “Okay.” And then, “I hit on him and he turned me down.”

  She looks surprised. “Why?”

  I drape the hoodie I brought with me over the back of a chair. “He said I was better than that. He didn’t want to use me.”

  “Jesus, he really is a nice guy.”

  “And just a friend,” I inform her. The doorbell rings, and I’m grateful for an end to the conversation. I lean against the counter and set the popcorn on it as Elsa says hi to Maisie. Then, I hear Zack’s voice. My stomach gives a little flop at the sound, and I frown.

  He’s just a friend.

  I force a smile when the three of them come into the kitchen.

  “Nice house,” Maisie says, glancing about. “Doesn’t Amanda Fischer live on this street?”

  I cast a startled glance at Elsa, whose attention is focused on the other girl. “Please tell me you’re not friends with her,” she says, a worried look on her face.

  Maisie laughs. The light glints off her tongue piercing. “I can’t stand her.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  Maisie sets a bag of Doritos on the counter next to the popcorn. “She showed up in class yesterday ranting about how her little brother got arrested for rape, and that it’s a bogus charge because the girl’s a former prostitute—like anyone’s sexual history matters when rape’s involved. Asshole.”

  I look at Elsa. She looks at me—horrified. I shake my head. It’s fine.

  Maisie turns to me. “Am I right?”

  I give a little smile. “You are.”

  She grins. “You know, you have the most beautiful skin. Doesn’t she, Zack?”

  He looks as though she just hit him with a chair. “Uh, yeah.”

  My smile gets bigger. Mitch would have known exactly what to say—Mike too. Both of them would have added their own ridiculous compliment, because that’s what seducers do.

  I’m not sure Zack would know how to seduce anyone, and I like him all the more for it.

  We get drinks and snacks and head down to the basement where the big TV is. The dogs are there; Caesar and Cleo watching the puppies play.

  “Hello, babies!” Maisie cries, and suddenly the pack is on her, yelping excitedly. As soon as they notice Zack, they turn their attention on him. He doesn’t seem to mind, and the grin on his face makes my chest pinch. Dogs are supposed to be good judges of character, I think.

  Elsa and Maisie claim the love seat, so that leaves the couch for me and Zack. He sits on one end, and I’m way down at the other. Isis jumps up beside me while Cleo claims the spot beside Zack, right up against him with her enormous head on his lap. Trill comes up with us too, while Caesar and Elsa’s brother’s dog lie on the carpet.

  The movie starts. I make a face as the opening music plays. What’s a bus doing in the desert? Isn’t this about Jesus? There shouldn’t even be a bus. It quickly starts to make sense—it’s very meta.

  “Jesus is cute,” Maisie comments.

  “Positively divine,” Zack quips. I laugh at his pun, and he shoots me a grin.

  Honestly, I don’t know what to think of the musical. It’s really dated, but the story is a powerful one, and some of the songs are actually pretty good, and the people singing them have incredible voices.

  When Mary Magdalene sings “I Don’t Know How to Love Him,” I feel Zack’s gaze on me. It’s a beautiful song, and it resonates with me on a few levels. Mary is a woman who has been used by many men and doesn’t understand what makes Jesus so special to her own heart. It doesn’t matter that she wants him—if he offered himself to her, she’d run away because she’s also terrified of what he makes her feel. It’s exactly what I think she would have felt.

  It’s how I would have felt in her place.

  After the movie—and its full-circle meta ending—we sit around and discuss it.

  “The movie came out in ’73,” Zack says. “It was controversial because Judas was played by a Black man.”

  “Would have been more so if he’d played Jesus,” I add.

  “Or Mary Magdalene,” Elsa quips, making us all laugh.

  Eventually, Elsa gives me a sneaky “go home” look. She wants to be alone with Maisie. So that’s the way it’s going to be, huh? When you only have one friend, it’s hard not to be possessive of her.

  “I should get going,” I say. “I’m kind of tired.”

  Zack smirks, knowing I’m lying. “I’ll drive you,” he offers.

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m only a couple of houses down the road.”

  “Your uncle wouldn’t be impressed if I made you walk.”

  I am about to tell him that my uncle doesn’t have to know, when I catch Elsa giving me an almost maniacal look. She jerks her head toward the door like she’s got some kind of tic.

  “Okay,” I say, earning her smile. “I’d love that. Thanks.” I can practically feel her sigh, though she doesn’t make a sound.

  I start to pick up Isis. “I’ve got her,” Zack
offers. It’s not like she’s all that heavy yet, but I shrug and let him gather up my pup. He holds her close to his chest and kisses the top of her head, right where I like to kiss her. In return, she yawns in his face.

  Elsa walks us out, shutting the door the second we’re through it.

  Zack glances back at the house as we walk to his car. “Not exactly subtle, is she?”

  I chuckle. “It’s not one of her strengths, no.”

  “So, did you like the movie?”

  “I did. Thanks.” I climb into the car and hold out my arms for the dog. He sets her on my lap. For a second, his face is really close to mine, and I wonder what he’d do if I kissed him. Would he kiss me back? Get in the car and take me somewhere private? Would he stop if I asked him to? Or would he pull me into the back seat and press my face against the faux leather?

  I realize that I really don’t want to know what he’d do. I want to keep him clean and nice in my mind.

  It’s a short drive to my house, so Zack doesn’t drive very fast. As we pull up to the drive, I see an old clunker parked not far away on the other side of the street. It’s odd to see a car like that on this street. I turn my head to look at the man in the driver’s seat.

  Mitch.

  It’s fucking Mitch.

  A black film oozes around the edges of my mind. The grape soda and Doritos in my stomach churn and revolt at the sight of him, at his too-familiar profile. I will never forget his face. He’s the man who took my virginity, my innocence—my life—and rented me out like a car, to be used by whoever had the cash and wanted a ride.

  The car’s lights come on, and it pulls out into the street as Zack parks the car in front of my house. I sit there, crushing a squirming Isis to my chest, trying to keep from throwing up or passing out. My heart is in my throat, my stomach not far behind. I think I’m about to hyperventilate.

  “Are you okay?” Zack asks.

  I shake my head. I can’t speak. If I open my mouth, I’m afraid of what might come out.

  “Lex?” He sounds afraid now. “Lex, what’s wrong?”

  I suck a deep breath through my nose in an effort to crush the panic that’s making my skin sweat and tingle. “Give … me … a minute,” I gasp.

  And he does. I hold my dog, who seems to have realized I’m not okay and has gone perfectly still. I feel her warmth, the silkiness of her fur, and the strength of her little body. I bury my face in the back of her neck and breathe her in, letting her calm seep through me.

  I’m okay. He can’t hurt me here. He can’t hurt me ever again.

  I lean my head back against the seat. “My pimp,” I say. “He was parked across the street.”

  Zack’s expression hardens. He opens the door and jumps out of the car. I don’t try to stop him because I know he won’t find anything. Mitch is gone.

  But he’ll be back.

  chapter fifteen

  “You’re my favorite, Poppy. You know that, yeah?” Mitch’s breath was hot against my ear. I used to like it, but now I hardly noticed. Still, his words pleased me.

  He brushed his hand down my bare back. His thumb found the scar left by his belt and I winced.

  “I’m sorry about that, baby,” he told me. “But you’ve been good—haven’t given me a reason to do it since, have you?”

  I shook my head as he tugged at the edges of the flimsy slip I was wearing, trying to pull the fabric over the scar. “We’ll have to get you something new to wear. Can’t have that nasty thing putting anyone off.”

  I took a sip of the cocktail he had the bartender make for me—it was the only thing keeping moisture in my mouth. I’d taken enough pills that my tongue was like a carpet. I was numb, blissfully numb.

  It was Friday night and we were all in the back room of the motel bar—our private little party room. It was where Mitch conducted a lot of his business. He took appointments for us, but new clients sometimes wanted to see what he had to offer before choosing a girl or two. Mitch was paranoid about cops, so he was very careful about letting anyone new into the room. Usually they had to be referred by someone else. Someone he trusted, as much as he trusted anyone.

  I watched Daisy walk away with a man in a three-piece suit. He called her “Brown Sugar” as they passed me and Mitch. Daisy’s eye twitched.

  “She’s sweeter,” Mitch told him with a grin.

  I tried not to snort. Daisy, sweet? Right. If battery acid was sweet, then Daisy could be called the same.

  A guy with hair almost as red and skin almost as pale as mine walked up to us and spoke softly to Mitch. I tuned him out. I didn’t want to know what he was saying. I listened to the song playing in the background instead and took another drink. There was a mellow feeling that came from mixing booze and pills that I liked, even though it kind of scared me. It was almost like that moment when you woke up from a dream, but weren’t fully awake.

  “Poppy, this is Owen.”

  I glanced at the redhead. “Hi, Owen,” I said. I didn’t even slur that much.

  “Take Owen up to your room and treat him nice, Poppy.”

  I wasn’t trusted to do this alone. Tom—a buddy of Mitch’s—walked two steps behind us to make sure I didn’t bolt and Owen didn’t do anything violent. Once we were in the room, Tom shut the door.

  I started toward the bed, but Owen grabbed my arm. He took me into the bathroom and pushed me over the sink. Cool air hit the back of my thighs as he yanked up my slip. I heard the snap of a condom. He didn’t touch me, just shoved until he was inside. He called me a “dirty little girl” over and over as my hip bones smacked against the porcelain. I counted the faucet drips and braced one hand against the mirror so my head didn’t crack the glass.

  Sixty-five drips—that was all it took before he grunted and pulled away.

  At least he threw the condom in the garbage. I’d had them land on my feet, my stomach, my back—my face.

  “You really look like her,” he said, breathing hard as he did up his fly.

  I didn’t ask who she was. I didn’t care.

  “I’m going to come see you again.”

  I leaned against the sink and waited for him to leave. When he did, he paid Tom, who came in to inspect me—make sure I wasn’t damaged—and took me back down to the bar. Tom liked his work a little too much. I felt dirtier when he was done than I did with Owen.

  My drink was still on the bar, and I needed it because my lips felt like they were stuck together. Ivy was sitting in the chair on Mitch’s other side. She was sucking on a lollipop, because that was what he’d told her to do.

  I climbed up onto the stool, wincing as I tried to get comfortable, and took a sip of my drink.

  “You’re my favorite, Ivy. You know that, yeah?” I heard Mitch say. I almost laughed.

  I didn’t tell her how little that meant. She’d figure it out soon enough.

  * * *

  I don’t tell Krys and Jamal about Mitch. I know I should, but I can’t do it. It’s easier to pretend it didn’t happen if I keep my mouth shut.

  Elsa texts me Sunday night. She wants to get coffee. Of course, I know what she really wants is to see Maisie. I guess Friday night went well after we left. I haven’t asked. I think I might be a terrible friend, but I don’t want to hear about her crush.

  No dogs, Elsa texts. Fine by me. If Mitch is sniffing around, I don’t want him to see Isis. I don’t know what he’d do to her, and she’s not big enough to take him on. I consider asking El to bring Cleo, but I don’t want Mitch near her either. Instead, I toss the pepper spray Krys got me into my bag, along with a box cutter I found in the garage.

  Elsa comes by a few minutes later, and we leave. Krys smiles and tells me not to stay out too late. She knows I won’t. She also knows my homework is done and that I have clothes already picked out. I’m anal like that. And I want to please her.

  I want to hug her before I leave, but she’ll think that’s weird, so I don’t.

  The walk downtown is mostly Elsa talking about Mai
sie and me looking over my shoulder, checking for Mitch. My friend doesn’t seem to notice; it’s not really weird for me to be vigilant when we’re out walking, and she’s way too infatuated to pay attention to anything outside of that.

  “There’s something about a girl with a tongue stud,” she says dreamily.

  “Rose had one,” I say, almost absently.

  She looks at me, surprised. “Rose was at the motel?”

  I nod.

  “You don’t talk about that very often.”

  I shrug. I don’t talk about it with her, but I do talk to Dr. Lisa about it. I have an appointment with her this week. Last week’s visit was spent discussing how pissed I was at her for calling the cops on Mike. I know she is required to do it, but I wish she’d told me first. She apologized—sincerely—for not giving me that consideration, which then made me cry and apologize for being a bitch.

  Therapy. It’s so much fun.

  “Do you miss them?” Elsa asks. “Those other girls?”

  Another shrug. “Sometimes I miss Daisy, even though she was a total bitch. I miss Jaime.”

  “The girl they found?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m really sorry, Lex. Really.”

  “Me too.” I don’t want her to ever see photos of me looking like Jaime had. “If anything ever happens to me, I want you to know you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  She stops walking and turns to face me. The sun is sinking behind her, casting her in an orange halo. She looks worried. “Why would anything ever happen to you?”

  I look away. Maybe I can lie to Krys, but not to Elsa. She’s with me so much … I don’t want her to get hurt because of me. “Friday night I saw Mitch outside my house.”

  “What?” Her eyes are wide. “Jesus Christ, Lex! Why didn’t you say anything?”

  I shrug. “You’ve been so high on Maisie, I didn’t want to harsh it.”

  She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “My love life is not more important than your safety, got it?” She shakes her head. “Did he see you?”

  I pull my hand from hers and start walking again. Sometimes being touched freaks me out, and other times it makes me want to cry. This is one of the cry times, and I don’t want to break down. “Yeah. He gave me this smirk. Zack went after him, but he was gone.”