Bad Romance

by Heather Demetrios

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Now I get why he’s so … Gideon,” Lys says. “I’d be a fucking Zen master, too, if I had this shit in my backyard.”

  Nat doesn’t care about the rock garden. She’s the only one out of the three of us who realizes I’m shaking.

  “Grace.” She holds on to my hand, tight.

  I lose it then. Messy tears and sobbing and I don’t want to be with you anymore, Gavin, I don’t I’m sorry and I love you but I can’t do this anymore I can’t can’t I hate my life and I want everything to just stop, why won’t it just stop?

  “That motherfucking bastard,” Lys says. “Look what he’s done to her.”

  I can’t stop crying and I cling to Nat while Lys paces back and forth.

  “You can’t stay with him,” Lys says.

  “You know he’ll do it,” I say. “He’s not fucking around.”

  “Then let him,” she snaps.

  “Lys,” Nat growls. “Not. Helpful.”

  “I still love him,” I say as my sobs die down.

  “But you don’t want to be with him anymore, sweetie,” Nat says. “That’s okay. People grow apart. It just happens, you know? Wanting to break up with him doesn’t make you a bad person.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. If he wasn’t so … And Gideon … I don’t fucking know.”

  The sliding door opens and Nat turns, still holding on to me.

  “Hey, Gideon,” she says. “Sorry. Girl emergency.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “No,” Lys says flatly.

  I turn to him, wiping my eyes. “Sorry. I’m fine. I mean, I’ll be fine.”

  “Anything I can do?” he asks, handing me another glass of champagne. “Other than keep the bubbly flowing, of course.”

  I take the glass, grateful. “This is perfect.”

  He smiles. “Okay. I’m going back inside. But if you need an assassin or code breaker or Jedi Knight, you know where to find me.”

  I laugh. “Okay.”

  He goes and when he’s gone, Lys glances at me. “Girl. You can bag you a Jedi Knight. This is a no-brainer.”

  I down the glass of champagne in one go and set it down.

  “Whoa now,” Nat says.

  “What are you gonna do?” Lys asks.

  I feel calmer now and I decide I like champagne.

  “Make sure he gets on meds,” I say. “And I’ll see if that changes anything.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Nat asks.

  I swallow. “Then … I’ll break up with him.”

  I will, Gavin. Get your shit together because I swear to fucking God I will end us.

  THIRTY-ONE

  I’m on my hands and knees, cleaning the baseboards in the dining room. It’s five-fifteen and you’re going to be here at five-thirty. It’s a few days after the party at Gideon’s, your birthday. Since it’s a Tuesday, we don’t have a show tonight, so I’m taking you out to the new Italian restaurant by your school. I tell myself that if you don’t have meds by the end of the week, I’m breaking up with you. But I’m already thinking about extending the deadline. It’s not right to kick someone when they’re down. And it feels impossible when it’s someone you love.

  I try not to get my dress dirty as I spray all-purpose cleaner on the boards and then run a cloth over them. No dirt comes up on the cloth because there is no fucking dirt there.

  Mom’s new thing is that the whole house needs to be cleaned from top to bottom every day. Mopping and vacuuming and dusting and toilet cleaning and all that. Yesterday, there was some dried pasta sauce on the counter and she started screaming about the house being a pigsty. Between work and school and rehearsal and now this cleaning crusade, I am totally beat. When I saw you on Sunday after our matinee, I fell asleep halfway through the movie we were watching at your house. You covered me with a blanket and just held me for the longest time.

  I really don’t know how’d I’d get through all of this without you whisking me away or sneaking into my room at night, visiting me when I’m at work. When I call, you pick up on the first ring. You’re the first person I go to when things get ridiculous and hard at home. You have been my lifeline and now it’s time I’m yours. I’ve promised myself that I’m going to stop falling out of love with you. I’m going to fall back in love with you because if I don’t you will kill yourself. I know you will. I don’t want to be selfish. Or rash. I want to do right by us. You deserve that—we both do.

  I won’t let my mind wander to Gideon. Every time it does I feel guilty. I love you and we have been through so much together. You’ve had a lot of shit to put up with—my family, my schedule, me still being in high school. How could I let you go, after everything you’ve done for me? How can I break up with you right when you need me the most? So I force Gideon to the back of my mind. Again and again.

  When I’m done I straighten up.

  “Mom?” I call. “They’re clean.”

  I hear her come down the hallway, Sam not far behind. She has dark circles under her eyes and her hair dye is fading. I can see strands of gray in her ponytail. It’s weird seeing my mom looking anything less than perfect. She’s practically religious about her hair and nails. She leans down and inspects the baseboards.

  “You missed a spot,” she says, pointing to a little smudge on the wall above the baseboard.

  I lean down and rub the rag over it, two seconds away from losing it. I think of you and our date and how much I need to get out of here.

  But then she stands and shakes her head. “You should probably go over them one more time,” she says.

  I can’t help it. My eyes fill with tears.

  “Mom, please. Gavin is gonna be here any minute; we have a date—”

  “The sooner you get to working, the sooner you’ll be finished.”

  “But we have reservations—”

  “WHAT DID I SAY?”

  Her whole face is suddenly contorted with rage and I can’t help it, I give in and say everything I’ve been wanting to for the past few months.

  “This entire house is clean, Mom, perfectly clean. And I am tired, exhausted, and I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. There’s something wrong with you—”

  She raises her hand and slaps me, hard. I stumble into the entryway, staring at her in shock, my hand against my burning cheek. She grabs my shoulders, shaking me so hard I bite my tongue.

  “Why is it always a fight with you?” she screams.

  I see movement in the corner of my eye and you’re there, standing in front of the screen. My mom opened the door earlier today because the weather was so good. I look back at her, panicked. Mortified.

  “Mom. Mom. Gavin’s—”

  “You bitch,” she screams at me. She raises her hand and I hear the screen door open.

  “Hey!” you say, but you can’t stop the slap, this one so intense my head knocks against the wall behind me.

  “What the fuck?” You’re shouting now. I’ve never seen you so angry.

  You grab me and pull me behind you. I’m sobbing and I can’t stop and my head is pounding and my cheek hurts and I love you so much, Gavin, I love you so much for wanting to save me.

  “What the fuck?” you yell again.

  I can feel you shaking, pure fury rolling off you, and I’m so grateful to you, to finally have someone stick up for me.

  My mom looks at you and there are no words.

  “If you ever, ever do that again, I am calling the fucking police,” you say. “I should call them right now.”

  Mom blinks, as if she’s coming out of a trance. “Gavin, you need to leave,” she says.

  “Gladly.” You grab my hand and push the screen door open. I’m crying so hard I can barely breathe as sob after sob comes out of me.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Grace?”

  I turn around and look at her and I can’t believe that after this I have to stay home.

  “She’s coming with me,” you say.

  I look at yo
u, shaking my head. I don’t even want to know how much trouble I’ll be in if I leave.

  “Grace Marie Carter, you get your butt back in—”

  You ignore Mom and take my face in your hands and you are quiet and gentle.

  “Baby, you’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you here when she’s like this.”

  “But if I go, I’ll be in so much—”

  “We’ll deal with that later. Come on. I’m gonna take you to my place.”

  I cry even harder. “The restaurant…”

  “It’s okay. We’ll go some other time.”

  My mom slams the door shut and you lead me to your car. I stumble, my eyes blurry, and realize I’m not wearing shoes. You get me into the car and then we’re gone, heading toward your house.

  “I’m sorry,” I sob. “I’m so sorry—”

  You pull over to the side of the road and unbuckle your seat belt.

  “Come here,” you say.

  I fall into your arms, soaking your shirt in seconds. You wore a tie and that makes me cry even harder. You rub my back and it’s only when I start calming down that I hear you softly singing my favorite song, “California Dreamin’.”

  I pull away and try to rub the tears off my face.

  “I must look horrible,” I say.

  I hiccup then and you reach over and smooth my hair.

  “You’re perfect.” You put your seat belt back on and soon we’re pulling up to your house. Both of your parents’ cars are here.

  “Gav, I don’t want them to see—”

  You firmly grip my hand. “They can help,” you say.

  I follow you into the house and your parents turn away from the TV when the door opens.

  “Did you forget something, hon?” your mom asks.

  You shake your head and pull me closer. Just seeing the shock on your mom’s face sends me back into tears. You explain what happened while your mom pulls me into a hug.

  “Oh, honey,” she says. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

  She leads me to the kitchen and grabs a bag of peas out of the freezer.

  “Put this on that bump on your head and I’ll go get you some Advil.”

  You sit down next to me and when I raise the peas to the place where my head smacked against the wall you take the bag from me.

  “I’ve got it,” you say.

  Your dad is pacing the living room. He stops and turns to me. “I think we should talk to your parents,” he says. “Let them know that they’ll be held accountable for their actions.”

  I shake my head. “Thank you so much, Mark. Really. But I think that will just make everything worse.”

  “She can’t do something like that and get away with it,” you say.

  I rest a hand on your knee. “It’s okay.”

  You reposition the peas and wrap one arm around my waist, pulling me to you so that I’m sitting on your lap.

  Your mom comes in with the Advil and gets me a glass of water.

  “I don’t understand,” your mom says. “What was it that set her off?”

  I tell them about the cleaning and your mom frowns.

  “Your mother should go see someone. Is she on medication?”

  I shake my head. “No. She doesn’t have health insurance. I mean, we don’t, like, talk about this. It just … is what it is.”

  A buzzer goes off. “That’s the laundry,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I don’t want you to go back there,” you murmur. “You’re eighteen—you don’t have to stay.”

  I lean my forehead against yours. “And where would I go?”

  “Here.” Your mouth turns up. “I’m sure I could squeeze you into my bed.”

  Your dad hits the back of your head with a newspaper and you smile.

  “I need to go splash my face with some water,” I say, slipping off your lap. “I’ll be right back.”

  When I get to the bathroom and see my face in the mirror, I’m surprised you didn’t fall out of love with me. My nose is bright red, cheeks splotchy and still stinging from those slaps. Red-rimmed eyes with mascara running down both my cheeks. Hair a frizzy mess. I grab some soap and scrub my face, then put my hair into a ponytail. When I go back out, it’s just you waiting for me in the kitchen.

  “Come on.” You take my hand and lead me to your bedroom.

  We lie down, two spoons curved against each other, and you hold me while I try to make sense of everything.

  “Has stuff like this happened before?”

  I sigh. “Not like this. I’ve been slapped before, but not that hard. But the way she was shaking me…”

  I grip your hands, happy to have this Gavin tonight. You’re protective and sweet and I love you for everything you said and did. Why can’t you be this Gavin all the time? I feel horrible for crushing on Gideon. I don’t deserve you. Maybe I never did.

  I turn around so that I can look into your eyes.

  “I ruined your birthday,” I say, my voice cracking.

  “No you didn’t. Baby, come here.” You wrap your arms around me. “This has been the best year of my life, being with you. All this shit with your parents will be over once you graduate.”

  I think about how many times you’ve been there for me when I’m dealing with stuff at home. All the late-night phone calls and songs and little presents. You, climbing through my window, taking me on adventures. I don’t know how I would have survived my mom and The Giant this year without you.

  “Hey, I have something that might make you happy.” You open the drawer in your bedside table and take out a bottle of pills. You shake it in front of me. “Meds. For depression. You were right.”

  I lean forward and kiss you. This, this right here is why I can’t give up on us. Gideon is probably just a silly little crush. How could I possibly kill what we have for something that probably wouldn’t last anyway?

  “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again,” you murmur against my lips.

  Safe. For the first time in a long time I feel safe with you.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, my eyes welling up.

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. Everything.”

  Gideon. My parents. Not having faith in you.

  You press your lips against my forehead.

  “It’s all right now,” you say. “Everything’s gonna be all right.”

  I wish I could believe you.

  * * *

  I GET HOME before my curfew. I left my phone at home so I have no idea if my mom’s been trying to call me. I don’t even have my keys. I try the front door—locked.

  Fuck.

  I ring the doorbell, hoping it doesn’t wake Sam up. About a minute later, my mom opens the door. Her hair is wet and she’s in her bathrobe. I feel nervous and defiant and tired. So tired. But I’ve mentally prepared myself for this fight. If she wants to have it, I’ll go out swinging.

  “Sit down,” she says, pointing to the dining room table.

  I’m scared. I try to remind myself that I’m eighteen, that they can’t control me like they used to. I could walk out right now and there’s not a thing they could do about it. Courage, dear heart.

  The Giant’s already there, a vodka tonic in hand. I pull out a chair and fall into it and I’m literally shaking because there’s something very final about the way he’s looking at me and my mom won’t meet my eyes.

  “I want you out of here,” The Giant says.

  “I don’t under—”

  “The last day you live under my roof is graduation. Then you’re gone.”

  I stare at him. “But … where will I go? I don’t start school until August. I don’t even know where I’m going to school.”

  “Not my problem,” he says.

  I look at Mom. “Is this for real?”

  She just looks at me.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I yell.

  “Keep your voice down,” she growls. “If you wake up your brother, you’re the one who has to be up
with him all night. I just got him down.”

  “This is insane,” I say. “You’re insane. The baseboards were clean, I had a date—”

  “She told you to come back,” The Giant says.

  “You weren’t even here,” I say. “You don’t know what happened.”

  “Did your mother tell you to come back inside?”

  “Yes, but she was slapping me, and Gavin—”

  “Did you go back inside?”

  “No,” I say, soft.

  “Then this is on you,” The Giant says.

  I stand up, fast, and all the anger that’s been in me ever since we moved here comes pouring out, shaping itself into words.

  “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG.”

  The Giant raises his hand. It’s inches from my face, ready to slap me. Mom lets out an inarticulate cry, but for once I’m not scared. This time, I want him to hit me. I want to call this giant’s bluff.

  “Go ahead,” I say, gripping the edge of the table. I smile, tilt my chin so my cheek is in prime slapping position. “Hit me. I’d love it if you did.”

  Because then I could call the police. I could tell the school. He’d be the one in trouble for a change.

  We stare at each other. His eyes are a watery brown—diarrhea, dirt. His lip curls into a sneer, more comic villain than true terror.

  “You’re grounded,” he says.

  I throw back my head and laugh and laugh.

  All this time I never realized: he isn’t a giant at all. Roy is just a man with one trick up his sleeve.

  And it’s played out.

  THIRTY-TWO

  For the first time in days I feel happy. Natalie told me this morning that she talked to her mom and I get to come live with her this summer. Nat’s mom didn’t blink an eye when she asked if I could stay. Of course, she said, as if it hadn’t even been necessary to ask. There is no yelling in Nat’s house, no demands, no strings. Just a lot of love and good food and laughter. I can’t wait.

  “I love how The Giant’s plan totally backfired,” Lys says. She does a fake karate kick and slices her arm in the air. “Take that, bitch.”

  Nat grins. “Score one for Grace.”

  I’m almost glad things went down like they did. I feel like I have this enormous weight off my shoulders. All day I go through my classes in a daze. The countdown begins. Two and a half months until graduation.