Something in the Way: A Forbidden Love Saga: The Complete Collection

by Hawkins, Jessica

  “What’s wrong?” Corbin asked.

  What was wrong? My chest throbbed all the time, a gaping wound waiting to be filled or bandaged or prodded. Manning was alone and possibly hurt and nobody knew when he’d be back. As if I could tell Corbin any of that. What was wrong was that I was in love with someone who might never be mine. Someone I hadn’t seen in a year and whom I saw everywhere. I did double takes at the mall, in the supermarket—even, sometimes, at school. I’d felt his presence behind me as I’d ridden a horse by myself for the first time.

  I worried I’d forget his face. I didn’t know anymore the exact spot I came up to on his body because I’d grown. I’d changed on the outside and on the inside, too. Seventeen was worlds away from sixteen. Did he know that? Could he tell from my letters? Did he know that no matter how much I changed, where he was concerned, I was the same girl who’d looked up at him on a wall and fallen right in love?

  Corbin’s eyebrows knit together. “Here,” he said when I didn’t answer. He held out his beer. “Chug this.”

  I took the drink. I took it to fill a black hole that couldn’t be filled. No matter what I put in there, it eventually seeped out. I took it to see what would happen. My friends were so obsessed with getting drunk. My parents talked about wine varietals and regions all the time. Val had a strange fascination with rosé. I downed the whole thing in one go.

  “Damn,” Corbin said, grinning. “I leave you for a couple months, and you turn into a verified alky.”

  I shook my head. “No. Not really.”

  He took the cup from me, wet the hand towel, and pressed it to my belly. With a squeeze, he soaked my top, sending a rivulet down my tummy. “Lift your arms,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “You want to go home smelling like a brewery? Your dad’ll kill you.”

  True. Vickie, Mona, and I were supposed to be having a sleepover. I raised my hands and he slipped off my sweater. He ran the stain under the faucet, averting his eyes until he finally snuck a glance at my bra.

  I covered myself. “Don’t look.”

  He smiled crookedly but returned to his task. “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “Relax. I’ve seen you in a bathing suit lots of times.”

  I frowned. “I wouldn’t say lots of times. Maybe twice.”

  “Five times.” He took my top out and laid it on the counter to dab it with the towel. “There’s the one-piece you wore on the beach last summer and then again for boogie boarding the week of your birthday. Then you have the hot pink bikini with the rhinestones that you bought for that end-of-the-year pool party. You also have a blue Roxy one I’ve seen at the beach and when you came to watch me surf Thalia.”

  I studied his profile as he focused on drying the stain. His golden hair was so thick, it didn’t even really fall when he bent his head. Somehow over the past year, he’d become my best friend. Val supported me just by being herself, by testing my boundaries, and making me laugh, but Corbin and I had a bond. He held up my top. “It’s damp, but it’s clean. Arms back up.”

  It took me a second to register. The beer was already starting to hit me. I lowered my hands and stood there. Letting him see me in my bra didn’t feel as uncomfortable as I might’ve thought. What if? What if my life was easy and Corbin was ‘the one’? What if Manning wasn’t in the picture? Would I let Corbin’s hands warm and comfort me?

  His eyes roamed another second, then he stepped closer. “You good?”

  “I’m great,” I said. “Loose or something.”

  He gripped my sweater, wetting his lips. “Lake.”

  I smiled, wrinkling my nose at him. “Corbin.”

  “Can I kiss you?”

  I was so surprised by the question that I blurted, “In the bathroom?”

  He chuckled, then passed me my sweater. “Good point. Come on.”

  After I dressed, we left the bathroom, and I followed Corbin upstairs to a dimly lit room clouded with smoke. A few kids I didn’t recognize lounged on overstuffed leather couches passing around a joint. The glare of the TV turned the smoke green and blue, pink and white.

  Corbin nodded at one of the guys. “Move.” He did, sloth-like as he rocked forward and off the cushions to give Corbin and me the couch.

  MTV was on. The next music video started, the title “Soon” by My Bloody Valentine popping up in the corner. Corbin handed me a joint I hadn’t even seen him light. “Smoke this.”

  It was the opposite of what Manning would do. He went out of his way to keep his vices from me. I remembered how he’d played with a cigarette on the wall, tapping it on his knee, sticking it behind his ear. Nothing took me back to him like the smell of cigarettes. This wasn’t what Manning smoked, but maybe it would make me feel close to him anyway. I put the joint between my lips, sucked as deeply as possible—and coughed for a full two minutes while my eyes watered and my throat burned.

  Corbin laughed. “Sorry. I should’ve warned you that might happen. I’ve been toking so long, I forgot what it’s like in the beginning.”

  I’d never even had a cigarette, but here I was, smoking weed. I put both hands on the sofa as my environment sharpened then softened. The black leather cushions made it feel like we were in the back of a car. I sank into them. The music video began to spaz, flashing colors, images echoing like sound.

  “You all right?” Corbin asked with a lopsided smile.

  I blinked a few times. It wasn’t unpleasant. The opposite, actually. I realized I was grinning. “I think so.”

  He sat up, took the blunt, and put it on the coffee table. Angling in front of me, he blocked the TV and kissed me. Lost in the new sensations, I didn’t see it coming so I just sat there, stunned. I’d never been kissed, not even by Manning, not really. I had touched my lips to the corner of his, but that wasn’t anything. This wasn’t how I’d envisioned my first time. I didn’t care that it was at a stranger’s house or that we both had beer breath or that I was surrounded by stoners. I only cared that it wasn’t Manning.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Why what?”

  I didn’t know how to answer. I hadn’t meant to say it aloud. I had no idea what I was even asking. Someone sparked a lighter over and over.

  Corbin pressed his forehead against mine. “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you eating cotton candy on the steps that night at the Fun Zone.”

  He was so close that his face doubled and I had to shut my eyes. Darkness began to swallow me up. I moved back against the arm of the couch, and Corbin took it as an invitation to lean on top of me. He slid his hands around my waist and pressed his face into the crook of my neck. My top stuck damply to my skin, but my chest prickled with warmth that spread down my tummy. The alcohol, the weed, the kiss worked fast, loosening my limbs, settling my thoughts.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting there. The song had changed to something I recognized, but it sounded both distant and all-consuming, like it was playing in the next room and in my head.

  “Lake?” Corbin murmured. “You there?”

  “Mmm.” Jesus, I felt good. I’d drunk the beer to fill a hole, but I didn’t truly believe for a second it would work. I’d been wrong. This was nice. Even having Corbin on top of me was nice. Maybe it wasn’t a betrayal. Maybe Manning wasn’t real, just a figment of my imagination. This was a better state of mind, less painful, an absence of ache. To be tipsy and wanted, it was a heady feeling.

  Maybe this was real.

  Corbin kissed me again, wet and slimy, but not in a bad way. At some point, I’d closed my eyes. I fought the urge to apologize for having no idea what I was doing. Was my breath fresh enough? Where did I put my hands? He put his in my top, sliding them up my stomach to my bra. “Let’s go somewhere,” he said. He slipped a finger into the cup of my bra, and my skin exploded with goosebumps. “It’s too crowded in here.”

  It would be so easy to fall into the dark behind my lids, to give in, but the voice talking to me wasn’t Manning�
��s deep bass that’d rumbled against my palms when I’d hugged him, or the soothing monotone I’d clung to while contorted in the back of a truck the night the cop had nearly caught us.

  Reality came back to me in pieces. The burn of my lungs, the murmur of voices, music. I should’ve recognized the song sooner, but it wasn’t until that moment that I did. I hadn’t heard it since the night Manning had driven Tiffany and me to the fair—I’d been trying to find it since.

  I opened my eyes and pushed Corbin off to look at the TV. “Black” by Pearl Jam. I had to write it down this time so I wouldn’t forget, but I couldn’t move. “I need to get up.”

  Corbin pulled back a little. “I know it’s . . .” He lifted a corner of his mouth, showing me his white teeth. “I’m not sure how it’s, like, possible, but I know.”

  His words floated through my brain, disconnected from each other. What was he talking about? “You know what?”

  “You’re so beautiful. You’re the center of everyone’s attention. But . . .”

  “But?”

  “You’re still Lake. So innocent. So sweet. I know you’re a virgin, but I swear it doesn’t bother me.”

  I looked down and shook my head. Warmth receded from everywhere but my face. Corbin could have anyone. I wondered if he’d taken a girl’s virginity before—I was sure he had, or that he’d at least had the opportunity. “It’s not that.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. I can show you how.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me to be embarrassed, not with Corbin anyway, and not about my virginity. I crossed my arms over my breasts. I didn’t want this, and for some reason, I felt guilty about that. “I’m sorry, Corbin.”

  He sighed, kissed my forehead, and sat back. “All right. I’ve waited this long. I can keep waiting.”

  I squinted at him. “Why?”

  “Don’t you have any clue how I feel about you?”

  “I—no . . .”

  That wasn’t true. I had some idea. Corbin hadn’t asked me out since that night at camp when he’d walked me to my cabin, but Val had tried to warn me about the situation in her own weird way.

  “Don’t you think if Vada Sultenfuss had known Thomas J. was going to go back into the beehive for her, she would’ve told him not to?”

  “Um. What?” I asked. “Who?”

  She sighed, exasperated. “My Girl, the movie. You’re Corbin’s best friend. You have to be careful or he’ll get hurt.”

  “You’re going to college,” I told Corbin.

  “So?”

  “There will be more girls than you can count.”

  “I’ve met a lot of girls, Lake. I still like you the most.”

  Somewhere in the room, someone wrestled with a bag of chips. Crinkle, kssh. Pop. The top of my scalp tingled. Corbin’s eyes were naturally clear blue, but when they were bloodshot like now, it almost hurt to look at him. “You’ll meet someone better at NYU.”

  “Better? What’s not better about you?” he asked. “I bet you can’t think of one thing that’s wrong with you.”

  Everything, I wanted to say. Everything was wrong if Manning was gone, and now he’d be away even longer. I couldn’t even see that he was okay or tell him I was sorry. He wasn’t around to scold me for sitting on a couch smoking weed with a boy.

  Crunch crunch crunch. The room smelled like Doritos. I covered my ears.

  Corbin chuckled. “You’re too high for this conversation.”

  Val walked by the doorway, skidded to a stop, and came in. She threw her hands up, a can of Cherry Coke in one and a white Airheads in the other. “I’ve been looking for you guys everywhere!”

  “We’ve been here,” Corbin said.

  “And in the bathroom,” I said, which made Corbin and me giggle.

  “Weirdos,” Val said. She tore off a piece of taffy with her teeth and pointed the candy at me as she chewed. “Are you stoned, young lady?”

  Corbin nodded to the joint. “Help yourself.”

  “Nah. I’m kinda over this place. I would’ve rather had that Meg Ryan movie marathon. Sleepless in Seattle for the main course, followed by When Harry Met Sally for dessert.”

  “Dude,” Corbin said. “You have to see Joe Versus the Volcano.”

  “Dude, I already have, like five times. When you’re stoned—”

  “Yes.” Corbin waved his hands excitedly. “When you’re stoned! Let’s rent it from Blockbuster and go to Val’s. I’ll find someone sober to drive us.”

  She raised her Cherry Coke. “Find me a car, and I’m your girl. I only took a sip of that beer. It was flat and gross.”

  Corbin stood, and they both looked down at me. I took his hand when he offered it, and he pulled me up. Val led the way downstairs.

  “Please don’t touch my ring,” I told Corbin for the millionth time.

  He raised our intertwined hands to inspect it. “I don’t know why you’re so attached to something you found on the ground. You don’t even know what the colors mean.”

  “Yes I do. I figured it out, but when you change the color, I don’t know how to feel.”

  “You change the color of the ring. It doesn’t change you.” He sighed but dropped my hand and slung an arm around my shoulder instead. A couple people snickered as we passed. I could already hear the rumors about how Corbin and I had been alone in the bathroom and then gone upstairs to make out. I didn’t care. They could think what they wanted. Only one person’s opinion mattered to me, and Manning would know when he got out that I was still here. Waiting.

  I’d wait as long as it took. I would save it all.

  For him.

  5

  Manning

  I woke up to the slide and slam of metal on metal. Concrete box. Ceiling crack that ran from one corner to the middle and forked. Mold in the toilet. Sweatshirt over my mouth and stuffed into my ears to block out the screamed obscenities and the assaulting smell of urine and feces.

  Like every morning at three o’clock, a hand slid a tray of shriveled eggs through a slot in the metal door. “You’re out today,” a guard said and shut the hole.

  That was it. Three words and the only ones besides inmate, strip, or let’s go that’d been directed at me in a while. I was out? Of solitary? I looked at the wall where I’d chipped off paint each day. Seventy-four. Did I give a shit about what day of the week it was or how long I’d been in here? No, but I didn’t have much more to do than track time, and I wasn’t even sure I’d counted right since I hardly knew night from day and slept in shifts. I couldn’t even keep track by breakfast, because some days, the staff never brought it.

  Under the metal slab and thin mattress they called a bed was a shelf with three books, paper, and a golf pencil. I hadn’t seen grass or the sun since I’d stuck my shovel in the dirt and gone inside for dinner the day of the fight. I hadn’t smoked since then, either, and I’d paid the price for that with withdrawals. The only human contact I’d had in two and half months was a CO cuffing me to and from the showers or for an hour of rec alone in a bigger concrete box with a two-inch sliver of window.

  I needed to shake a hand or be touched by someone other than the fuck-face CO who kept “forgetting” my meals when I was already underfed. Or the guard who’d stand in my cell and chuckle while reading my letters to Tiffany. If one had ever made it to her, I’d be shocked. It was punishment for what I’d done to Ludwig, even though I was pretty sure he disgusted the other guards, too. I hated them and this hellhole and the inmates on both sides of me who banged on the walls all hours of the day. They could scream endlessly and must’ve painted the walls in shit for how bad the smell got sometimes.

  I took the prison-made sweatshirt off my face and sat up, blinking against the fluorescent light overhead. My knees ached from bending them to keep my feet from hanging off the bed. I shoveled the food fast, partly out of hunger, partly so I wouldn’t have to taste it. The juice carton was expired but I drank it anyway, and then it was back to pacing the six-by-nine-foot cell or looking at a wall
. More thinking. Every thought there was to have, I’d had it.

  No two ways about it—I’d snapped. No warning, no build up, no attempt to talk myself down. One second I’d been playing cards, the next, my hands were around a man’s throat. I’d sat in here watching the scene play out in my head like I’d been an observer rather than a participant. I could see it clearly, because I’d seen the same thing happen with my dad. He never made a decision to hit one of us. He just did it, no discernable reason, pattern, or threat. He’d hit me over dirty dishes as a kid and my mom while she was just watching TV.

  The only break in my routine since entering the hole had been a trial in front of a judge. If they’d charged me with assault, it would’ve meant a lot more time in prison. CO Jameson had come to my rescue, testifying that I’d been provoked, physically and verbally, by Ludwig.

  It wouldn’t matter if CO Jameson had personally delivered me an ice cream sundae each day in here—the truth was, guards were pigs and I regretted the fact I’d ever wanted to be a member of law enforcement. I had no shot at ever becoming a cop now, and that was a blessing. Charles Kaplan had been right. Only people at the top had power, and I’d never go to the top. Not with my record or background. I’d been so green, asking Dexter what my past or family history had to do with me getting convicted of a crime I didn’t commit.

  Being in here had given me lots of time to replay that night in my head. Look at it from different angles. Could it have been some kind of set up? Who’d been around the fire the night I’d taken Vern’s truck? Who’d had beef with me? Everyone at camp was a suspect. Had I trusted the wrong people? Vern the janitor was a local. The officer who’d pulled me over had been friendly, but who the hell was he anyway? Bucky, the camp cook, had had a problem with me from the start—was it because I had a girl he’d never dream of scoring? Then there was the chick I’d gotten the mood ring off of. I didn’t know any of them from a stranger.

  The smells, the noise, the guards and meal times meant I couldn’t sleep more than a few hours a night. My thoughts had warped and changed and wandered but they never, ever went the fuck away. Sometimes, they were reduced to simple things.