Little Lies

by H Hunting

  “It’s just stupid boys wearing masks. You’re safe right here with me. Just breathe, and when you’re ready, I’ll walk you home,” he murmurs in my ear, his cheek almost touching mine as he speaks, reassuring me that it’s fine, to focus on his voice. He takes my hand and presses it against the side of his neck so I can feel his pulse slowing. His other hand stays anchored against the back of my neck, and his index finger draws figure eights on my skin. The pattern is lulling, like his heartbeat, and it slows as our breathing does. As the anxiety settles, a new emotion creeps in: embarrassment.

  I had a panic attack in the middle of someone’s front walk because boys dressed as clowns scared me. Usually when I have one, there isn’t an audience, or at least not one like this. My parents and brothers and maybe my cousins might be witnesses, but not the neighborhood kids who will whisper about me. And this will be another reason for River to be overprotective, and for me to want to hide from the world.

  As if he knows what I’m thinking, Kodiak whispers, “We made a wall around you. You’re protected, Lavender. The boys are gone, and no one knows you’re here. We can cut across the front lawn and go back to my house, if that would make it better. I can show you what I made the other day when I was at Queenie’s.”

  Kodiak has anxiety too, so he also goes to see Queenie. But he’s better at managing his most of the time. He has other things that make life difficult, though, like always wanting everything to be perfect, including himself. Mom says it’s impossible to be perfect, so he’s always setting himself up to fail, and it makes me sad.

  Kodiak gets straight A’s all the time, but if he gets one question wrong on a test, he has a meltdown. They’re not the same as mine. He folds in on himself, a broken lawn chair. Beats himself up. Pushes himself too hard until he cracks, like a chip in a windshield that spiders out until the whole thing threatens to shatter. He usually manages to pull himself back together before it gets to that point. But not always.

  Kodiak slips his hands in mine and pulls me to my feet. River nudges him out of the way and puts his arm around me, hiding me in his cape. All I want is the calm Kodiak brings, but now I have River’s possessive anger and his guilt because he didn’t see the boys with the masks before it was too late.

  Sometimes it’s hard to balance the things I want with the things that make me feel bad, like River’s guilt and his overprotectiveness. And how much I like the attention from Kodiak.

  Present day

  “HAVE YOU TRIED talking to Kody?”

  I have video therapy with Queenie today. Usually my sessions are more spread out, but with all the changes that have come with a new college and living away from home for the first time, we decided to add a few. “I don’t know that talking would be particularly helpful,” I tell her. I produce a heart marshmallow from my box of Lucky Charms and eat it.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because so far, every conversation I’ve had with him has reinforced all the reasons he stopped talking to me in the first place.”

  Queenie turns her head to the side, staring off at something in the distance. Her jaw tenses briefly, and she taps her lips. Sometimes I wonder how hard this is for her, because she knows both sides of this story. I’m not sure if she still talks to Kodiak the way she does me, but for a lot of years, she treated both of us.

  “My relationship with him was like an untended garden,” I blurt out.

  She turns back, a small smile tipping up one corner of her mouth. “That’s an interesting comparison. Would you like to elaborate?”

  “Well, if a garden is left untended, the weeds creep in and take over, don’t they? No matter how careful you are, if you don’t take care of it, they’ll choke out everything beautiful, suffocate the delicate blossoms and replace them with hardy, ugly, impossible-to-eradicate parasites.”

  Queenie nods. “What other principle does this apply to?”

  I think for a moment, putting together all the pieces of my past with Kodiak. “Dependency.” I fish another marshmallow out of the box and flip it between my fingers. “Kodiak became my drug. I did things I knew would send me into a tailspin. And I didn’t use any of the strategies we’d worked on because I wanted him to help me.”

  “To be fair, it wasn’t one-sided,” Queenie says softly. “But eventually you learned to depend on yourself again.”

  “I know.”

  Kodiak was complicit in our demise, determined to save me every single time.

  For me, someone who felt powerless most of the time, it was a terrible, wonderful, heady feeling.

  But it was me who single-handedly obliterated our friendship. He was the delicate flower, and I was the clinging vine. It was me who broke the beautiful, genius boy with a savior complex—one he could never satisfy, because the harder he tried, the worse it got.

  Until it all came crumbling down.

  THURSDAYS END WITH art, my favorite class along with set and costume design, and I’m done by five thirty, which means my weekend officially starts in three hours.

  Sure, I have lots of homework to tackle, but Maverick has an away game this weekend, and River has football, so I’ll have the entire house to myself. No smelly boys, no video games, and best of all, no random girls and no Kodiak.

  I enter the art studio, my mood buoyant and rising further when I see the easels set up. I didn’t think we were going to be using them for another week or two, so this is an awesome surprise. In the middle of the room is a beautiful, black velvet chaise lounge.

  Professor Meyer greets me with a wide smile.

  “Human subject?” I ask, then shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’m just excited. How are you today, Professor?”

  “No need to apologize, Lavender. And yes, human subject. We have a volunteer whose schedule isn’t very flexible, and today worked, so here we are.” Her smile and expression are ridiculously gleeful.

  I glance around, noting the absence of palates and paintbrushes. “Are we sketching?” I’m a little disappointed. I love working with paint. But any opportunity to work on a human subject is a great one.

  “We are. Why don’t you get set up and choose a seat?”

  I pick a spot near the front and set everything up, giddy with excitement. The fact that I get to end my week with something I love is awesome. Maybe the rest of the weekend will be just as good. Even economics homework won’t get me down.

  The seats around me fill with students, all of whom seem as excited as I am. Once we’re set up, Professor Meyer takes her place in the center of the room. “I know this is unexpected, but we had a rare opportunity present itself and a model offered to come in this week. Today we’ll focus on sketching and shading. I urge you to pay close attention to detail. Your goal today is to capture the raw authenticity of the nude male form.”

  A quiet murmur goes through the room. I glance to my right and make accidental eye contact with the girl beside me, who also happens to be one of Bethany’s friends. Her name is Elise. She’s never been particularly friendly to me, but she’s been even more sour since the cafeteria incident. She’s also an art major and doesn’t like that I’m not and still managed to get into the class.

  She loves to offer harsh critique of everyone’s work, especially mine. Last week she called my use of pastels juvenile and uninspiring. I think my silence also pisses her off, because I’ve never actually spoken to her.

  “Please come on in.” Professor Meyer’s attention shifts to the back of the room, and the class turns as a group.

  My excitement drains as our male model enters the studio, wearing a white terry cloth robe. This can’t be happening, is my first thought, immediately followed by, of course this is happening.

  And I am 100 percent certain it’s happening because of me. I don’t understand why Kodiak feels the need to remind me at every turn that I’m nothing to him and never will be.

  I turn to face my easel, uninterested in watching everyone else fall under his spell. Kodiak is exactly like the place he’s named fo
r—exceptional, rugged, cold, unique. As much as I hate him, it’s impossible to deny his stunning beauty, or to avoid being sucked in by it.

  White terry cloth passes on my right. I don’t want to look up, but I realize I have to. For the next three hours, he’s going to be my primary focus. Even worse, I have to sketch him. Naked. In a room full of my peers.

  I’m also aware that this entire thing is—or at least used to be—far outside his comfort zone. He used to get anxious before games when we were younger because it meant so many people would be watching him, and he was always afraid of failing. But he learned how to compartmentalize the anxiety, how to push it down and put it in a box so he could play without distraction.

  Maybe he’s learned to like the feeling of being watched. Maybe he’s learned how to feed off it instead of letting it feed off him. Whatever the case, he’s about to drop that robe and expose himself to a room full of strangers.

  God, does it ever make me angry. And that anger makes me furious, because I don’t want to feel anything about him, or for him. At all. I want to give zero fucks. It’s clear that’s where he is, so why can’t I be?

  His hand goes to the tie at his waist and stays there for several long seconds. Why isn’t he disrobing? Maybe he’s having a panic attack. Maybe he isn’t as okay with this as he pretends to be. Maybe he needs me like I used to need him. The thought is fleeting, childish, and entirely too romantic. Kodiak doesn’t need anyone. I lift my eyes. His jaw tics as I meet his eyes, the palest green. His pupils are pinpricks. Acute anxiety.

  But that’s what he was waiting for—my eyes on his. He pulls the tie, and I don’t look away. We’re locked in some kind of odd stare down. I don’t understand what he’s doing. What’s the point of baring himself to me in front of everyone? Is it another way to humiliate me?

  The robe slides over his heavily muscled shoulders and down his arms, piling on the floor at his feet. A collective intake of breath follows. A feminine giggle comes from somewhere behind me and is quickly covered by an embarrassed cough. And then silence.

  Kodiak doesn’t break eye contact as he steps back and drops down on the chaise. Which is when I realize what exactly has elicited the inappropriate giggle. Aside from the fact that Kodiak is built like a Greek god, carved out of marble by the most talented of hands, he’s also unapologetically sporting a semi. At half-mast, he has a lot going on, so I don’t want to think too hard about what the deal is when he’s fully erect. Or why he’s hard in the first place. It’s possible he gets off on my misery these days.

  He doesn’t make a move to hide his erection. Instead, he reclines and stretches his arm across the back of the chaise. The way he positions himself seems almost careless, but I can see that it’s not. Every muscle is tense, vibrating with disquiet. He bends one knee and the other stays on the floor, which means every person in the room has an excellent view of his ample junk.

  He’s uncircumcised, which I didn’t know until today. Although I’m very aware that my dad is also in that category of male. My mom used to talk about the Snuffie and Super MC when I was younger. Eventually I figured out she was referring to my dad’s penis. Yes, I’m scarred for life.

  Yes, it’s also kind of hilarious.

  Or it was, until I realized all the tube-shaped superhero costumes she’d made had a use. There are some things you should never, ever know about your parents.

  Kodiak could easily shift his hand and employ some modesty, covering some of the show he’s putting on, but instead, he splays his hand on his upper thigh, palm down. Again, it seems casual, but it’s what he used to do when he was trying to keep his knee from bouncing.

  And still, he’s staring at me, and still, I’m staring back.

  I thought I hated him before, but it has nothing on how I feel about him now. I want to kick him in the balls, which incidentally, are resting on the plush velvet seat. Looks like that will need a steam clean after this.

  A cough comes from my right. I glance at Elise, and she widens her eyes at me. I don’t know what message she’s trying to send, but it distracts me from my rage-glaring. I exhale my frustration and prepare for the torture of having to look at my least favorite person in the entire world for the next few hours. While he’s naked.

  I pick up my pencil and get to work, sketching first the outline of the chaise and then Kodiak’s form. I avoid looking above the neck. Even with as little direct contact as we’ve had recently, I can draw every detail of his face from memory. However, I don’t take the literal route with this particular project. Instead, I take a few artistic liberties.

  Halfway through class, we take a ten-minute break, and Kodiak, whose semi has deflated—and whose unerect penis is still annoyingly impressive—shrugs back into his robe. A few of the bolder students, who obviously know who he is, giggle and titter as he passes them, flashing his dimpled smile.

  I wait until he leaves the room before I finally relax. I need to pee, badly. Instead of using the bathroom on this floor, I go down a level so I can avoid running into Kodiak in the hall. Of course he’s standing out there, surrounded by girls, his smile fake and uneasy.

  Kodiak was always good with small doses of interaction, but he never did well with being surrounded, especially by people he doesn’t know. Not that I care to save him. This mess is his, not mine.

  A few minutes later I return to my easel, and Elise shifts in her seat, eyes narrowed and homed in on me.

  “What’s the deal?” She motions to the empty chaise.

  I give her a what-are-you-talking-about look.

  She rolls her eyes. “He’s been staring at you the entire time.”

  “He plays hockey with my brother.”

  “So, you’re a thing?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t believe you. He’s been looking at you like he wants to either stab you or eat you for dinner.”

  “The former is more likely than the latter.”

  “You know Bethany already has dibs on him. Plus, I’ve heard he’s kinky as hell. Likes to watch and stuff.”

  I don’t respond. I have nothing to say to that.

  The class trickles back in, and Kodiak drops his robe again. At least he’s not hard anymore.

  I spend the second half of the class working on the details above his neck and between his legs. Professor Meyer stops behind me. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if I end up with a failing mark for this, but there’s so much gratification in the end product that it will be totally worth it.

  She clears her throat, and it actually sounds like she’s trying not to laugh. “That’s an interesting perspective, Lavender.”

  “Just embellishing the subject, so it lines up with my vision.”

  “I look forward to hearing all about it in your write-up.” She moves on to Elise and calls out, “Ten minutes left. Please put the finishing touches on your piece.”

  I add extra shading, taking liberties by adding a hint of color until Professor Meyer calls time and we all have to put our pencils down. Elise looks over, forever trying to compare us when we have completely different styles. Besides, I’m going to spend my life sewing costumes, not creating masterpieces on canvas or paper. This is my therapy, not my career.

  She’s in the middle of a sip of water, which she sprays all over her drawing and the floor. “Oh my God!”

  All of a sudden, I have the attention of the entire class. I’m actually surprised the students behind me didn’t notice until now, or maybe I was covering the head with my body.

  Curiosity must get the better of Kodiak, because he shrugs into the robe and comes around to look at my piece. He coughs a couple of times. “Wow, that’s—”

  “Astoundingly accurate,” I supply.

  I drew a half-erect penis where his head should be, and where the head of his actual penis should be, I drew his face—a tiny, very detailed version, red and angry, with horns, like the devil.

  It’s actually one of my better drawings.

  Present dayr />
  POST-ART CLASS, I spend the night at Lovey and Lacey’s, not wanting to go home to the possibility of having to face Kodiak. He’s always at our place. I don’t know why they can’t hang out over at his and BJ’s house. I love seeing BJ, but Kodiak is always with him.

  I don’t tell the girls why I don’t want to go home until after I’ve had two coolers. And then my motormouth kicks in and I spill all the half-hard-on beans. They’re equally as mystified by the fact that he posed for my class as I am. It’s completely out of character for him. I also tell them what happened with Dylan and how I’m not really interested in another tutoring session, and I doubt he is either.

  I sleep like crap and dream about Kodiak lounging in that freaking velvet chaise—except in the dream he’s clothed and I’m the one who’s naked, straddling his lap, my classmates sketching us as he tells me over and over that he’ll never love me.

  Even in my dreams I’m pathetic.

  I don’t head home until early afternoon on Friday. Lacey and Lovey tell me I can stay over again, but there’s a sorority party, and Dylan might be there. I’d like to avoid him for as long as I can.

  When I enter my house, BJ’s passed out in the recliner—I think he likes it more than his own bed. Three guys fill the leather couch, wearing what are probably wet swim shorts, drinking beers, and playing video games. One of them is Quinn. He’s not here often. He’s getting his master’s in physical therapy. He’s been called up to play for the NHL twice already and declined, which is crazy since he’s insanely talented on the ice.

  One of the guys calls out to me, and Quinn shoots him a glare that would make me pee myself if I didn’t know him. “She’s a Waters. Do not talk to her unless you want to lose precious body parts.”

  I roll my eyes. “Please don’t castrate anyone on my behalf. Blood is really hard to get out of the carpet.”