Bad Romance

by Heather Demetrios

  And this scares me, what I’ve become by being with you: my nos turned to yeses, my nevers to maybes. In the almost year we’ve been officially together, I’ve somehow morphed into my mother. I walk on eggshells, glass, coals—all to keep you happy.

  Gideon asks me: What are you so afraid of?

  He asks: What would happen if…?

  He says: You deserve better.

  Do I? I don’t even know anymore.

  THIRTY

  I know something’s wrong as soon as you pick me up. Just a sixth-sense thing. But when I jump into the car and press my lips against yours, you kiss me back. You ask me how my day is. You almost trick me, but I can tell something’s off.

  “You okay?” I ask as you pull away from school and head to the park. Even though it’s only the middle of March, it’s already getting warm, so we’ve decided to have a picnic before I have tech rehearsal at six.

  “Yeah, fine,” you say.

  But your hands tighten on the steering wheel, your knuckles white. I don’t want to fight today. We haven’t seen much of each other since I got back from Oregon. Your band is playing lots of shows and I hardly have any free time, now that rehearsals are taking over my life. There’s distance between us, a widening crack, and I don’t know what to do. You’ve started partying—a lot. You want me to be a rocker’s girlfriend who smokes out with the band and gets drunk and gives you blowjobs in the dirty bathroom of whatever club you’re playing at. Having a girlfriend with a curfew is a buzzkill, I get that. But whether you realize it or not, you blame me for being in high school, as if I have any choice in the matter. I can’t be in your world right now, no matter how hard I try.

  You park and we grab the blanket and food you brought, then head over to a secluded patch of grass under an oak tree. We kick off our shoes and I go through the grocery bag as I sit down.

  “Nice job,” I say, holding up a pack of Oreos.

  You nod, picking at the grass. I set the cookies down.

  “Gav. What’s going on? There’s obviously something wrong.”

  You sit there for a minute, quiet, and I think you’re not going to get into it when you suddenly explode.

  “I saw you. Yesterday. You were talking to some guy and he put his fucking arm around you.”

  Gideon’s been slowly breaking down the wall I’ve built between me and every guy I know. I remember that half hug because I was sad when it was over.

  “What do you mean you saw me yesterday? Were you on campus?”

  A knot of worry grows in my stomach. I still haven’t forgotten that day you secretly watched me at the mall. It’s made me paranoid at work, especially when Matt and I have the same shift. But how are you watching me at school? It was during lunch.

  “I just wanted to see how you were with other people when you’re not with me,” you say.

  “You were spying on me?”

  “No. I mean, I was gonna take you out later, but after I saw that guy all over you I was like, fuck it. Who is he?”

  “Just Gideon—he’s in the show.” I sigh. “Honestly? I think it’s a stupid rule. I have friends that are guys. You have friends that are girls. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “The big deal is that I don’t want other guys trying to get down my girlfriend’s pants.” You grab my hand. “You’re mine. I don’t want to share you.”

  I pull my hand away. “Gav, it’s just not realistic.”

  You raise your voice and a couple of moms over by the playground look over at us. “I put up with so much shit and you can’t even do this one thing for me? You have no idea what this does to me. No idea. I can’t sleep at night, okay? All I can think about is you, surrounded by all these guys at lunch, at rehearsal, at the mall.”

  I decide right then: I’m breaking up with you. I am so fucking over this bullshit. I want to be with Gideon. I have to stop lying to myself, to you. I don’t care how much we’ve been through, what we’ve given up to be together. Nat and Lys are right—you are controlling. And it’s only going to get worse. I will not turn into my mom. I will not.

  I brush invisible crumbs off my skirt. I need to channel Lady Macbeth. Screw your courage to the sticking-place.

  “Gavin…” I swallow. “Gavin, I think … I think we should—”

  But you don’t let me finish because you know what I’m trying to do, don’t you?

  “If you break up with me, I swear to God I’ll kill myself.”

  My mind just … freezes.

  Kill.

  Myself.

  How could I have once thought trying to kill yourself was beautifully tragic? I saw you as the spurned lover, the ultimate romantic. God, what was I thinking?

  The freeze breaks and suddenly I’m angry. Fuck you for telling me this, for putting a gun to your head and telling me it’s my finger on the trigger.

  “No you won’t. You won’t kill yourself.” I whisper these words, as if saying them more quietly will calm the sharp-beaked thing inside you.

  “Yes. I will.” You say this slowly, as if you’re talking to a child, as if me still being in high school and you being in college automatically makes you the mature one. This is your Calm Boyfriend voice. I hate it.

  “I’ve thought about it,” you say. “I have a plan.” You look at me. “You know I’ll go through with it.”

  “Jesus fuck, Gavin.”

  “Do you want to know how I’d do it?”

  “No.” Then I lose it, anger trumping fear. I’m shouting and the sound of my voice punches the air and I don’t care that we’re in a park and that people are staring at me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Do you think I like being like this?”

  You turn away, but not before I see tears sliding down your cheeks. I want the anger to stay, but it’s going … going …

  I can’t stand seeing you in pain. You cry messy tears and you’re breaking right in front of me and I did this, I did this. I reach up and put my arms around you and you wrap yours around me and this is how it’s supposed to be, this is where I belong, in the circle of your arms.

  “I love you, I love you,” I whisper.

  How many times have you been my protector? How many times have you talked me off the ledge? I can’t abandon you now.

  You press your lips against mine and they’re salty with tears and I breathe you in and the smell of you whisks me away from that lonely shore and back to you.

  “I love you more than anything,” you say.

  I think about you in that bathtub. The razor, the blood …

  I pull away. “Gav, you need help,” I say. “Let’s talk to someone. Miss B or your mom or—”

  “I don’t need help. I need you.”

  “If you won’t talk to someone, I will,” I say.

  “What, you’ll tell your school counselor your boyfriend is crazy—”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy,” I say. “I think you’re depressed and—”

  “Because of you, because you let these guys all over you—”

  I stand up then. Fuck it. Fuck. It. “You know what, Gavin? I am so fucking tired of this stupid jealousy. I haven’t cheated on you, but if you can’t stop treating me like I have a fucking scarlet letter on my chest, then that’s a pretty good sign that we shouldn’t be together.” The words fall out of my mouth. I want to vomit them all over you. “And telling me that I’m basically responsible for whether you live or die is fucked-up and I don’t deserve that shit.”

  You stand up, just inches away from me. “I wasn’t lying, Grace. That’s how much you mean to me. You’re not just some girl I fuck once a week, you’re my life.”

  I turn away as frustrated tears pool in my eyes. Why can’t you trust me? Why can’t we be happy? Why can’t I stop thinking of Gideon?

  “This stuff,” I say, my voice soft, “is pushing me away from you, Gav. I need space. I need to breathe.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I look at you. It’s hard being angry at
the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. But not impossible.

  “It means I don’t want you spying on me or freaking out if I hug one of my guy friends. And … you need to get help. Like, real help. Meds. Something.”

  “I don’t need fucking meds.”

  “Yes. You do. Last year you were in the hospital. And now you’re threatening to do it again?” I step forward, lean my forehead against yours. “Please, baby. I’ll go with you if you want.”

  We stay like that, holding each other, your breath against my neck, your heart beating against my chest. The thought of you not being alive hurts, makes it hard to breathe. You’re the only person in the world who would rather be dead than not be with me. Nobody loves me like that. If I were in a burning car that was about to blow up, you’re the only one who’d try to save me, the only person who would risk their life to save mine. I have absolutely no doubt that my parents wouldn’t go near the car—they’d come up with excuses and tell themselves they couldn’t have saved me anyway. And my friends, Beth—they’d want to save me but would be too afraid of dying in the process. But you. You wouldn’t think twice, would you?

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  I kiss your chin, your neck, your earlobe. Breathe you in.

  “Did you really mean it?” I ask softly.

  “Yeah, I think I did.”

  You’re a maze, all high hedges and endless loops. I can’t find a way out, can’t see where I’ve been. It’s all running, lost in the dark of you. Trapped. Everywhere I turn is a dead end. I keep winding up back where I’ve started.

  * * *

  I GO TO rehearsal after we leave the park. For the first time since working on a show, I have no desire to be there. I just want to curl up and make all this confusion go away. I want to not fall for Gideon. I want to not be thinking of breaking up with the guy I’ve considered my soul mate for the past year.

  I push open the door to the theater’s lobby. Cast members are milling around, running lines, practicing sword fights. I wave back at the calls of hello and go into the theater itself. Miss B is standing on the stage, shading her eyes.

  “Grace, is that you?”

  “Yep,” I call.

  “Can you go in the greenroom and get everyone who’s in there onstage?”

  I throw my stuff down on a chair and head backstage. Lys, Nat, and Gideon look up from something they’re watching on a phone as I poke my head in. I can’t look any of them in the eye. Especially Gideon. If I do, I’ll start crying, I know it.

  “Hey, guys. Miss B wants you onstage.”

  I leave before they can grab me.

  “Grace!” Nat’s in the doorway, looking at me, frowning in concern. “You okay?”

  “Yep. Totally.”

  “Liar,” she calls.

  I give her a backward wave and head to the front row so I can get my clipboard and notepad. I jump onstage and Miss B starts listing things she needs done. I jot everything down as she walks around the stage, inspecting the set.

  “We have to call the designer. This door won’t shut properly,” she says.

  I see Gideon out of the corner of my eye. He’s talking to Kyle, his eyes flicking toward me every now and then. Lys pulls me aside before the run-through starts.

  “Dude, what’s up?” she asks.

  “Nothing.”

  “Bitch, please.” She crosses her arms. “I know you.”

  I sigh. “I’ll tell you tonight. We still on for a sleepover at your place?”

  “Of course.”

  I’m packing up my stuff after rehearsal when Gideon drops down onto the chair next to mine.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asks, psychic as usual. He’s scarily good at reading my moods.

  “Nope.”

  He studies me for a minute. “Fair enough. You coming tonight?”

  Gideon’s parents are out of town and he’s having the cast and crew over. I’ve been debating all week about whether or not to go.

  “I’m staying at Lys’s, so it’s her call.”

  We go, of course we do. On the way to his house I tell Nat and Lys everything.

  “What the motherfucking fuck?” Lys says from the backseat.

  “Not how I would put it,” Nat says, “but I agree with the sentiment.”

  “You have to break up with him,” Lys says. “I bet this is the shit he pulled with Summer.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “and he almost died.”

  The car goes quiet.

  “He can’t put this on you,” Nat says. “It’s not fair.”

  “In my professional opinion,” Lys says, “I say he’s codependent with narcissistic tendencies and major depression. I’m pretty sure that’s a fair diagnosis. This has nothing to do with you. He’s gotta work through this shit on his own.”

  “Do you want to break up with him?” Nat asks.

  I throw up my hands. “I don’t know. I mean, I really really don’t know. I love him, but…”

  “But…,” Lys says.

  “Gideon,” Nat finishes quietly.

  I hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. Gideon.”

  Nat pulls up to Gideon’s house and shuts off the car.

  “I think that was smart—about telling him to gets meds and stuff,” Lys says.

  “I mean, maybe that’s all it is,” I say. “A … what do you call it?”

  “Chemical imbalance,” Lys says.

  “Yeah, that. Maybe he’ll get meds and be the Gavin we all know and love.”

  “Maybe we never really knew him,” Nat says. “Maybe this is the real Gavin.”

  Someone knocks on the window and we jump. Peter and Kyle are waving us inside.

  “Hey,” I say, putting my hand on Nat’s arm. “Don’t tell Kyle about this, okay?”

  “I would never,” she says. “He’s my boyfriend but you guys always come first.”

  When she jumps out of the car, he picks her up and spins in a circle. She throws back her head and laughs, carefree and happy. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.

  Gideon’s house is just like I imagined it would be. There’s a Buddha statue in one corner and the whole place smells like incense. There’s a small room off to the side of the entryway with meditation cushions and a yoga mat. Masks from all over the world hang on the walls along with pictures of him and his parents from their travels. There they are in front of the Taj Mahal, the Great Wall of China.

  “You made it!” Gideon says. He has a bottle of vodka in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other, but he wraps his arms around me anyway. I don’t push him away.

  When he lets go, I turn to Lys. “I think this is the night.”

  “The … Oh.” Her eyes go to the bottles in Gideon’s hands. “The night.”

  I’d promised Lys that I would have my first drink with her. I want to have fun. I want to forget you. I want to do something that’s just for me.

  Nat shakes her head. “I don’t know, Grace. Maybe you should wait until you’re not, you know…”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I want to. I’m eighteen, we’re graduating soon. I need to be, I don’t know, inducted or something.”

  “You’re all speaking Girl,” Gideon says. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’ll see,” Lys says, grabbing my hand. “Direct us to where adult beverages can be found.”

  “Come, fair ladies.” Gideon leads us through the living room, which opens up onto the kitchen.

  As soon as we walk farther inside, we’re greeted by cast members, all in various stages of tipsy. The main room is airy and bright, with a large Persian rug in the center and tapestries from India on the walls. Comfy couches in earth tones make an L shape, and a stack of art and travel books are in the center of the large coffee table. Two cats lie curled up beneath it, eyeing the room with suspicion.

  When we get to the counter where all the drinks are, Lys scans the bottles, then grabs orange juice and the vodka in Gide
on’s hand.

  “I’m making you a screwdriver,” she says.

  Nat looks at the vodka and wrinkles her nose. “That sounds dangerous.”

  “It’s just vodka and orange juice,” Gideon says. He glances at me. “You’ve never had one before?”

  “She’s never had anything before.” Nat grabs a Sprite. “I’ll stick to this.”

  Gideon leans against the counter, his arms crossed. “Is this really your first drink?”

  I nod. “The very first.”

  “Okay, wait,” he says to Lys. “We can’t let her drink that shit.”

  He opens the fridge and pulls out a tiny bottle of champagne, then gets a champagne flute from the cupboard.

  “Won’t your parents realize that’s missing?” I ask.

  He waves his hand, then opens the bottle. “There are, like, ten in there.”

  Gideon pours champagne into the glass, then hands it to me. His fingers brush mine and his touch is electric.

  I’ll kill myself if you break up with me.

  I take a sip. It’s delicious and cold and wonderfully bubbly. Liquid gold. I feel warm inside almost immediately. I take another, bigger sip.

  “Well?” Nat says.

  “A perfect first drink,” I say.

  Gideon grins. “Success!” Someone calls him over and he hands me the bottle. “Be right back.”

  “Oh my god,” Nat says as soon as he’s out of earshot. “How freaking cute is he?”

  Pretty cute, I have to admit.

  “Consider yourself off matchmaking duty for the night,” I say to her. “Seriously. I just want to hang with my girls and get tipsy. No more boy talk. Please.”

  They hug me so that I’m sandwiched between them and I am so in love with my best friends. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe they’d try to rescue me from a burning car, too.

  And then I realize: you’re the burning car.

  I finish my glass of champagne, then grab both of their hands and pull them into the backyard. It’s quiet here—everyone is inside doing dance party karaoke stuff, which is good because I might just fall apart and I don’t want an audience for that. Gideon doesn’t have a pool—he has a Zen rock garden, a swirl of white and gray stones, and I’m momentarily distracted by the moonlight bouncing off the rocks.