“Kiss me,” I command.
He tilts his head. “I don’t want to be one of the many guys who has kissed you, Lex.” My heart drops. I try to pull away, but he stops me. “I want to be the one you chose to kiss first.”
I freeze. My heart is pounding so hard, I can feel it in my head. “What do you mean?”
“Do you want to kiss me?” he asks.
“Yes.” It comes out a whisper.
“Then kiss me.”
I’m not sure what to do. This isn’t like when I shoved my tongue in his mouth before, or when I took off my shirt. This is … intimate. I take a step closer—my knees tremble. We’re almost touching. I lift my hand, place my palm over his heart—it’s beating almost as fast as mine. Slowly, I slide my hand up, over his shoulder, behind his neck, and tug his head down. He doesn’t resist.
I press my mouth to his. His lips are warm and soft. I slide my other hand up his arm—so I can push him away if I need to.
“Kiss me back,” I whisper. And he does, but he lets me lead. It makes me want him more. “Touch me.”
Zack’s arms close around me, his hands warm and solid against my back. He’s so strong. He could force me to do whatever he wanted, and I couldn’t stop him. But he’s not forcing me to do anything. He’s making me do it all and that’s … frustrating.
I pull away.
“Are you okay?” he asks, looking alarmed.
I try not to glare at him. “Don’t treat me like I’m fragile. I want you to kiss me, Zack. Do what you’d do with any other girl and I’ll let you know if I don’t like it.”
He hesitates. “I don’t want to do anything that might freak you out. I don’t want to be one of those guys, Lex.”
I sigh. “I don’t think you could be one of them if you tried. Just, don’t treat me like I’m broken.”
“You’re not broken,” he says, and he brings both of his hands to my face, holding me still as he lowers his head. When he kisses me, it’s like firecrackers going off in my chest.
I’ve had guys shove their tongues in my mouth, slobber on me, act like they’re trying to devour me in one gulp, but I’ve never felt this.
When he pulls back, I open my eyes. They’re wet at the corners. “Now what?” I ask. My voice is hoarse.
He smiles. “Now, we sit on the couch and watch a movie. And the whole time we watch the movie, we think about that kiss, and what it will be like when we get to do it again. And maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you hold my hand.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” I say. “You’re not nice, you’re actually evil.”
He laughs and puts his arm around me. “Come on.”
We get some snacks and go into the living room. I find a movie on Netflix that we’ve both seen but like and start it up.
Halfway through, I realize Zack might be on to something. I’ve been sitting there beside him, thinking about that kiss and holding his hand. His fingers stroke mine in a soft, lazy pattern that almost tickles. Makes me think what that pattern would feel like traced on other parts of me.
I’ve had enough—the movie’s boring compared to him. I shift on the couch and kiss the side of his neck. His skin is warm and he smells slightly spicy, but sweet. His body wash, maybe? I don’t know, but I like it. I let my lips and tongue trail over his jaw.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice a whisper.
“What teenagers do,” I reply, before softly biting his neck. I reach up and turn his face toward me so I can kiss him. This time, I use some of the things I learned in the motel. It’s amazing to me how different something can feel when you want to do it.
“Lex,” he groans, but I lower my body down onto the couch and bring him with me. He braces one hand on the cushions, the other is high on my ribs, just below my breast. If he just moved his thumb …
I bring my leg up, hook it around his and pull him down on top of me. He’s solid and warm. He’s kissing me now—we’re kissing each other, and I can hear the shallow rasp of our combined breath. He moves his thumb and I gasp, raise my hips.
My body moves on its own—hands, hips, legs. I can’t seem to get close enough to him even though we’re as close as ocean and sand.
I open my eyes and look at him—slightly blurry, he’s so close. His eyes are shut, his eyelashes long and thick on his cheeks.
How terrifying. There’s that urge to run away, to open a door and dive through. Zack deserves someone who’s present. He deserves my full attention—no running away to one of my mind rooms. No hiding. I have to experience it all with Zack, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
I’m pretty sure I’m not.
“Stop,” I whisper.
Zack instantly goes still. His hand leaves my chest and his body lifts off mine. He raises himself above me, and I’m suddenly cold. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod.
“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”
He looks so concerned, it hurts my heart. “Because I asked you to stop, and you did.” I don’t think he understands the significance of that.
Or, maybe he does, because the expression that comes over his face begins as anger and ends as something soft and sweet.
He sits back on the couch and offers me his hand, pulling me up beside him. He shifts me close against his side and puts his arm around me. “Is this okay?”
I snuggle closer, leaning my head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Thank you.”
When he offers me his free hand, I take it. His lips brush my forehead. I close my eyes and listen to the beating of his heart.
That’s how Krys and Jamal find us when they get home—curled together, asleep with the TV on and credits rolling. And me, one step closer to knowing what it’s like to be a normal girl.
* * *
Mitch’s arraignment is scheduled for Friday.
Detective Willis tells me I shouldn’t go—that it’s a long wait only to hear him say he’s not guilty. But I want to see him. More importantly, I want him to see me.
“I don’t know,” Krys says when I tell her I want to go. “It could be really hard for you, Lex. What if his friends are there?”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “I don’t care. I’ll take Zack with me, or Elsa. I need to do this.”
She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Okay.”
I hug her. “Thank you.”
My aunt doesn’t immediately let me go. “I’m proud of how far you’ve come, Lex. You’re not the same girl I saw in that hospital bed eight months ago.”
“I still feel like her sometimes.”
“But not all the time,” she says. “And that’s what matters.” She gives me another squeeze before letting me go.
I start to walk away, but stop. I turn back to her. “Krys?”
“Yeah, sweetie?”
I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “Honey, that’s not true.”
“It is,” I insist. “If you hadn’t come for me, I’d be dead, just like Jaime.”
She blinks and a tear trickles down her cheek. “Then I’m even more grateful they found me so I could bring you home.”
* * *
Friday morning, Zack picks Elsa and me up to go to Mitch’s arraignment. I have no idea how long it’s going to take, but I hope we’re done before Zack has to go to work that afternoon. I don’t need him there beside me, but he makes it a lot more bearable.
Detective Willis meets us there. “You’re sure you want to do this?” she asks.
“Definitely.”
“Okay. Come with me.”
I don’t know exactly how long we’ve been sitting in the courtroom when I catch a glimpse of familiar red hair. I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s here. They’re friends, after all.
My mother’s eyes widen when she sees me. She looks old. Old and wasted. Her skin has a yellowish cast to it; so do the whites of her eyes. I guess h
er liver’s probably giving out.
Frank’s with her. I’m more surprised they’re still together than anything else. They’ve been together three or four years now, a record for Mom. Frank gives me a little smirk when he looks over. All I can think about is how hot his breath was on the back of my neck. Sour and hot.
“Is that who I think it is?” Elsa asks, eying my mother.
I nod.
“Who’s that greaseball with her?”
“Her boyfriend,” I tell her, turning my head so I don’t have to look at Frank anymore. I can smell him; the memory is that strong. I don’t want to puke in the courtroom. Of all the things I experienced in that motel, I think he was the worst. He should have taken me home. He should have been good.
“Do you think she’ll come over?”
“She’s not here for me,” I say.
Zack gives me a nudge. “You don’t need her. You have us.”
“Damn skippy,” Elsa adds. She grabs my left hand. “You traded up.”
We wait maybe another half hour before Mitch’s name is finally read. My heart jumps at the sound of it. Instinctively, the fingers of my right hand tighten around Zack’s.
Mitch wears a prison jumpsuit. He’s handcuffed and looks like hammered shit. His vanity must hate that his hair is greasy and he needs a shave. He looks like a pathetic old man. How could I have ever thought he was beautiful? Next to Zack, he’s about as beautiful as a bucket of worms.
As he’s led toward the front of the courtroom, he glances around. I see him nod at Frank—watch my mother wave in return. As if pulled by invisible strings, Mitch turns his head just enough.
And looks right at me.
He didn’t expect to see me, I can tell. A smile tugs on my lips as I stare at his surprised face. Did he think I’d fade away? Did he think he could kill Jaime and I’d let it go?
Did he think he’d broken me so far down that I’d be afraid to look him in the eyes? That I would think I owed him silence?
He thought wrong.
The charges against him are read—trafficking, kidnapping, wrongful imprisonment, attempted murder, actual murder. I look around. I’m the only girl from the motel there. Detective Willis told me I was the only one to make it back to some degree of a normal life. Where are the others? Are they still out there? How many more of them will end up like Jaime?
He enters a plea of not guilty. The judge is an older man who doesn’t look the least bit impressed with the bit of humanity standing before him. He denies Mitch bail. He’s going to be locked up until his trial.
We waited almost three hours for what amounted to about three minutes of court time, but they are three minutes I will treasure for the rest of my life.
“I’ll be right back,” Zack says when we step outside the courtroom. Detective Willis appears as he walks away. Behind her, I see my mother waiting for Frank. She doesn’t even glance in my direction. She’s digging in her purse for her flask. I can see her shaking from withdrawal twenty feet away.
“You okay?” Detective Willis asks.
“I’m good,” I tell her.
She looks pleased. “The prosecution will start putting their case together soon. We’re going to crucify the son of a bitch.”
“Crucifixion’s too good for him,” I say. “But it’s a place to start.”
Suddenly Zack is back. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are unnaturally bright. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he is hopped up on something.
“We should get going,” he says.
I say goodbye to Detective Willis, and we head out.
“What’s wrong with you?” Elsa asks Zack as we reach the door.
Then I hear my mother’s voice. “Oh my God!”
I glance back and see Frank stagger out of the men’s room with his head tilted back. The front of his shirt is soaked with blood.
“You beautiful bastard,” Elsa says, giving Zack a look so intense, it makes me thankful she doesn’t like guys.
“Let’s get out of here.” He pushes one of the doors open, and we step out into the chilly sunshine.
“Why did you hit him?” I ask when we’re in his car.
Zack glances at me as he turns the key in the ignition. “I saw how he looked at you.” That’s all the explanation he offers. It’s all I need.
Elsa leans up from the back seat and kisses his cheek. “Find a drive-thru, Zack-adoo. I’m buying you lunch, you big luscious brute.”
I smile at her glossy lip prints on his cheek, and I add my own. He looks at me in surprise but quickly turns his attention back to the road.
“I could go back and hit him some more,” he offers. Elsa and I laugh. Inside, I’m shaking. I didn’t even have to tell him what Frank had done. He knew.
I was wrong when I told Zack I didn’t know how to love someone.
chapter twenty-three
Neither the apologies nor Mitch’s arraignment make any huge changes in my life. I still go to school and get stared at—or avoided like I’m contagious. People still talk about me, but not to me. I still want to get numb every once in a while, like after a particularly vivid nightmare or a rough day at school.
I’m still going to meetings, though not like I did fresh out of rehab. We talk about shame a lot because it’s something we all have in common in addition to our involvement in the sex trade.
When I talk to Zack about it, he tells me he used to drink a lot when he was younger. He says he was almost a foot shorter and fifty pounds heavier. I don’t believe him until he shows me photos.
“This is why I didn’t have a girlfriend,” he says.
The picture doesn’t even look like him. Not because of the extra weight, but because his face looks tired and puffy—his eyes unfocused and glazed. It’s a look I’ve seen my mother wear for days at a time.
“What made you stop?” I ask one night when he comes with me to walk Isis.
He doesn’t look at me. “I realized how much I’m like my father when I drink.”
I slip my free hand into his. “Whenever I miss being numb, I remember my mother at the courthouse.”
“She’s pretty hard looking,” Zack reflects. “Sad looking.”
“The walking dead.” Krys will never look like that.
We hang out a lot—me and Zack. Sometimes we “double date” with Elsa and Maisie, like going to Lake Compounce’s Haunted Graveyard. It’s fun and campy, but there are parts of it that make me hold Zack’s hand so tight, I’m afraid I might hurt him. Those are the places where it’s so dark, I can’t see my own hand in front of my face, and I know there are bodies around me. I get a little panicky. But Zack leads me through it and buys me a funnel cake when we’re done.
We spend a lot of time kissing too. Just kissing. Sometimes it goes a little further, but he always stops when I ask. He stops when I don’t ask too, which is starting to become an issue for me, but I don’t say anything because I’m trying to come to terms with not wanting him to stop.
I don’t want to freak out in the middle of sex with Zack. That would be terrible. Even more terrible would be to dissociate and go into one of my “rooms.” He deserves better than that. So do I.
But I also know there’s only one way to find out if my mind is as ready as my body seems to be. The human body’s a resilient thing. It heals with very little memory of what’s been done to it. Maybe a scar, something tender. It’s the mind that carries all the damage, that remembers all the pain. The mind that gets twisted and broken.
The funny thing about minds, though? They only get so messed up because they also remember what it was like to be happy, to not have that pain. Even if you think you’ve forgotten, there’s a part of you that remembers.
I’m not sure if I’m trying to remember or trying to forget.
The end of October is a lot of meetings with the people prosecuting Mitch’s case and the lawyers suing Stall 313. I’ve told my story to so many people that it doesn’t really feel like mine anymore. Every time I tell it, I fe
el a little more removed, a little less ownership. It’s okay—it’s not like any of it was something I wanted.
Halloween night, the four of us—me, Zack, Elsa, and Maisie—go out for Thai at a place on Main Street. Maisie and El are going to a party later on campus. Zack and I are going to have a horror movie marathon at his place. He’s decided I haven’t watched enough del Toro. I don’t care what we watch—I just love hanging out with him.
We drop Maisie and Elsa off at Maisie’s apartment to get ready for the party and drive to Zack’s house. Along the way, we see a ton of little kids in costumes trick-or-treating.
“I used to love that,” I tell him. “All that candy.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “It was the one night of the year I could be someone else.”
“I like who you are.”
He shoots me a smile, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.
When we get to his house, his mother is handing out candy to three little girls all dressed like Wonder Woman. She laughs as they thank her and scamper back to their parents.
“I told them that I was Wonder Woman one Halloween, and one of them told me I was too old,” she says, still chuckling. “Tell that to Lynda Carter.”
I don’t ask who Lynda Carter is.
“Want to watch the movie with us?” Zack asks. Even though we already ate, he grabs a big bag of chips out of the cupboard and two cans of soda from the fridge.
“No,” she says with a wave of her hand. “But do you mind watching it in your room? There’s a documentary on Netflix I want to watch.”
Zack looks surprised. “My room?”
His mother rolls her eyes. “Yes, Zachary. I trust you to have your girlfriend in your bedroom while I’m down here watching TV.” She shakes her head as the doorbell rings. “Unless you want to hand out candy instead?”
We practically run from the room and upstairs.
His room is exactly what I thought it would be. It’s neat and nerdy. I know he likes things to be orderly and in their place, so I’m prepared for how organized everything is. His walls are decorated in posters advertising books and movies. I recognize most of them.
What Unbreakable Looks Like Page 23
