Untouchable: A Bully Romance

by Mariano, Sam

  “I’m of the belief that why someone does something is super important. If you want to understand who someone really is, you don’t just need to know what they’ve done, you need to know why they’ve done it. I don’t know why Carter has done every bad thing he has done, but I do know why he cheated on you. Without being mean or hurting your feelings, I’ll just say, the same circumstances do not apply to our relationship. You and I are very different people, and I think that’s why Carter behaves differently with each of us. It’s not that I’m better or worse than you, we are just different, and I am more what Carter needs.”

  I tried really hard not to offend her, but that last line slipped out, and now her eyes gleam with an embarrassed kind of anger that lets me know she feels attacked. “You think you’re so much better than me, Zoey, but you fall for the same shit. You think he always openly cheated on me? No. That was at the end, when everything had gone to hell and he didn’t care anymore. When it first started, when he still wanted to keep me, he lied about it. He tried to cover his ass, just like he’s doing with you. Carter is incapable of fidelity. He’s too damn selfish.”

  That does not logically fit with what I already know about Carter’s opinions on cheating. Lying and trying to scare me off does fit with what I know about Erika though, so it’s easy enough to dodge this particular dollop of bullshit.

  “I’ve gotta get to class, Erika,” I tell her. “I don’t believe you more than I believe him, I’m sorry. I think your motivation to lie to me about this is much stronger than his, so please, stop wasting your time with this. It’s gettin’ old.”

  When I start to speed up so I can walk away from her, she stops and calls out, “I have proof.”

  My steps slow. Proof? That’s a pretty bold claim to make baselessly.

  Pivoting on my heel, I cock my head to the side and ask, “What kind of proof?”

  Chapter 36

  I don’t know what to expect when Erika pulls out her cell phone, but the smug look on her face tells me she has something up her sleeve. Something she thinks will work.

  On one hand, I don’t believe her words, but on the other hand, I’m not about to stick my head in the sand just to protect my idea of Carter, either. Even though class is starting any minute and I need to hustle if I don’t want to be late, I fall back and stop beside Erika, glancing curiously at her phone for this supposed evidence.

  She opens up her photos and leans closer so I can see. “Now, I figured you wouldn’t want to believe me, so I was pretty thorough.” First, she pulls up a photo of her and Carter to show me. They are on her bed, Carter is wearing a white T-shirt, his arm stretched around her. Erika is wearing a thin sleep top and no bra. Her head is tilted in toward his, a little smile on her face. Carter is asleep and she’s snuggling with him, but this picture could have been taken literally anytime. It could have been taken when they were together.

  Raising my gaze back to hers and cocking an eyebrow, I ask, “This is your proof?”

  Pointing a well-manicured fingertip at various spots she wants me to pay attention to, she says, “Take it all in. This is a current picture. See what we’re wearing? I’m just giving you all the ground work you need. This is Carter at my house that night.” Now she drags the picture up to show the data. A little square of the picture on a map to show where it was taken, the day, and the time.

  My brow furrows because that is the day of our date, and the time is about an hour and a half after I left Carter’s. That could be a coincidence, though. I’m not sure how the meta data of a photo works, but Erika probably could have taken a screenshot of an older photo on her cell phone that evening to get a recent time stamp. It could just be convenient timing—that seems more likely to me than the alternative.

  “Nice try,” I tell her, shaking my head.

  “I’m not done,” she assures me, not sounding worried about my current dismissal of her evidence. “Now, this is the evidence. This is the video. I just wanted to show you that pic first.” Meeting my gaze and flashing me a smile, she says, “It’s cute, right?”

  I give her a dead look.

  “Okay,” she says, tapping her screen. “So, this is the same night, a couple minutes later,” she says, dragging the video up to show me the meta data on that, too. Same night, a couple minutes later. “Now, obviously I had to be sly taking this. Carter’s not dumb enough to have let me do it. Anyway, once things get going, we bumped the headboard and the phone fell down so you can’t see what’s happening anymore, but trust me, you’ll be able to tell by listening.”

  Suddenly overcome with wariness, I take a step back and shake my head. Common sense tells me I should watch that video and see what’s on it, but between her absolute confidence and how eager she is for me to watch this video… this doesn’t feel like a trick. That means whatever is on this video is going to be really bad. A screen shot might have explained the photo having the right time stamp, but a video?

  Taking a step toward me, Erika tilts the screen and presses play. Despite my misgivings, I can’t help looking at the screen.

  “Hi, Zoey,” Erika whispers to the camera. She is nestled in the crook of Carter’s arm and he is lying propped against her pillow, like he was in the picture. The camera is pointed at both of them for a moment, then Erika flashes her audience a little smile and the footage gets shaky for a moment. Her gaze keeps drifting to Carter like she’s checking to make sure he isn’t awake as she crawls on her knees carefully, turning around and positioning the camera on the shelf on her headboard. There is some noise as she settles it as quietly as possible.

  The position isn’t perfect, but since she had to hide the phone, that’s not surprising. I can still see the back of Carter’s head and over his shoulder. So the view is perfectly clear when Erika climbs back to her previous position and slides an arm affectionately around his waist.

  I swallow, discomfort enveloping me. I can feel myself growing tense while my mind screams that he’s asleep. Even though I want to slap her for even touching him so affectionately, he isn’t doing anything wrong. He’s asleep and she’s caressing him like a lover—if this is her proof, it’s only proof that she’s a creep.

  On the video, Carter stirs, making a faint noise.

  “Shh, baby,” she murmurs, shifting her body so that she’s half on top of him. Erika cradles the back of his neck tenderly and leans in, kissing her way along his neck.

  Rage surges through my body, leaving a trail of blistering heat in its wake. I can feel the warmth of anger traveling up my neck and suffusing my face.

  “Right now I’m leaning more toward punching you in the face than dumping Carter, if I’m being honest,” I tell her.

  Smiling faintly, eyes on the screen, she says, “Keep watching.”

  My stomach twists in protest, telling me whatever I do, I should not continue watching this. I won’t be able to unsee it, and I am starting to worry that what Erika views as proof of Carter’s infidelity is going to feel a lot more like sexual assault to me.

  “Is he asleep the whole time?” I ask, looking away from the video to her. “If so, I’m afraid to tell you, male rape is not my kink.”

  Fury leaps in her gaze. “Rape? Are you fucking delusional?”

  “If you had sex with him while he was literally unconscious, that’s not cheating. It’s a felony, and you should be locked up for it.”

  She gapes at me for the longest moment, but finally pulls herself out of it and shakes her head. “I didn’t rape anybody, psycho. I think you have your sex life with Carter and mine severely mixed up if that’s the first place your mind goes, you little freak. Keep watching. He wakes up.”

  Taking a step away from her, I shake my head. “I don’t want to watch this. This is making me uncomfortable, and not in the way you intended. I’m going to tell Carter about this tape. You can show it to him, and he can decide what to do with you.”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” she states, following after me. “I’ve made a lot of leaps in my
time tryin’ to defend his ass, but this? You’re insane. There’s something wrong with you.”

  “I’m not the one who forced herself on an unconscious ex because he doesn’t want me when he’s awake,” I tell her.

  “You fucking idiot.” She grabs my arm, yanking me back. “Watch the video. That is not what this is.”

  I don’t want to look at the phone. There’s no possible positive outcome. Either she shows me something horrible that verifies she violated my boyfriend, or she shows me something horrible that shows this turning into something else. Something Carter vehemently denied happening.

  The agony of wondering which it is might be worse, though, so I force my gaze back to the screen. She unpauses it and I try to keep control of the anger pulsating through me.

  “Mm, I’m gonna take good care of you, baby,” Erika murmurs in the video. I missed the transition, but she’s on top of Carter now, straddling him. She sits back, grabs the hem of her shirt, and pulls it off over her head. After tossing it back on the floor, she leans down to kiss him again.

  His hands move, coming to rest on her sides. Now he is clearly awake, because he’s… kissing her back. It goes on for what feels like an endless measure of time, then Erika grinds her hips and Carter groans.

  I’m going to be sick. My heart can’t beat properly and my stomach is so twisted up, I want to vomit.

  Finally they break the kiss and I wait, my aching heart hoping for something from Carter that will make this sting less. He’ll tell her to get off him, to stop, that he was still half-asleep and didn’t realize…

  Instead, he grabs her around the waist with one arm, braces his weight on the bed with the other, and flips her on her back so he can be on top. He climbs between her legs and leans down, so close he smashes her bare breasts against his chest. Erika giggles and locks a leg around his hips. She tilts her head and I see him bending to kiss her neck the way she did a moment ago.

  Because of Carter’s movement, the phone slips and falls flat. Now all I can see is the wood of the top shelf. She’s right, though, I can still hear it. I can still hear Erika moaning as my boyfriend kisses her neck.

  The bell rings, alerting me that I’m late to class. I pull myself out of the video, but I can’t shake the weight of sadness. The icky sensation of complete and utter disappointment.

  My limbs feel shaky and not up to the job of walking to class. I still feel like I’m going to vomit. I really should race to a restroom, but Erika could follow me in there. The last thing I’m going to give her is the satisfaction of standing outside the stalls listening to me throw up my guts.

  Swallowing down the anger, hurt, and bile rising up inside me, I walk away from Erika without a word. Well, I intend to walk away without a word, but I’m feeling too exposed right now to hold my temper.

  “Don’t you wanna watch the rest?” she calls out innocently.

  “Fuck off, Erika.”

  I’m so angry that I can hear it. The blood surging through my veins, the discomfort oozing as my head feels close to combusting. I replay Carter’s bullshit words in my mind, his insistence that nothing happened between him and Erika, that she was making it all up, saying things she knew would make me doubt him.

  I believed him. I struggled with it, but ultimately, I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt. I chose to trust him instead of her.

  And he fucking lied to me.

  Once I’ve turned the corner so Erika can’t see me anymore, I pull out my cell phone. My hands tremble and my fingers shake, making it difficult to navigate where I want to go. Frustration surges at the delay, at the difficulty to click a damn button because I’m so upset, but I finally get my message chain with Carter open.

  “Where are you?” I type without thought.

  I stare at the screen as I approach my class. I don’t know how I’ll focus on schoolwork when I’m this upset. I don’t know how talking to Carter will make it any better, but all these feelings are trapped inside me and I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t find some outlet for them.

  Finally, three little gray bubbles move across the screen and Carter types back, “What? I’m in class. Where are you?”

  Now that I have him, I don’t know what to say. I guess we can’t have this conversation via text, and we don’t have a free period until lunch.

  How am I supposed to sit in class with him today?

  How am I supposed to look at him ever again and not want to scream at him for being such a miserable liar?

  I don’t know. I can’t think straight. Rather than send back a thoughtless, hasty response, I slide my cell phone into the pocket of my jeans and head into class. I’ve let him fuck up enough of my life. I have to try to clear my head so I can concentrate.

  I’ll deal with Carter later.

  Chapter 37

  The morning passes in a foggy blur. Random memory assaults hit me at odd times—Carter and me tangled in the dark, his skin against mine the night he took my virginity. Sleeping over at his house this weekend, the way I woke up next to his warm body. The way he held me down in his living room and fucked me brutally, without mercy.

  The faint stirring of lust should feel better than the sadness that has been following me around, but instead, it intensifies my loss. No more of that. No more of him.

  I have to be done now. I know Carter needs firm boundaries, and if I say I’m not like Erika but I do exactly what she did, he’ll only keep hurting me. Carter is a predator, and that’s what predators do. I’m not even sure he can help it, not anymore.

  There was no reason for him to do what he did. No reason that I can see anyway. None but the obvious one.

  I don’t really matter to him. He’s not afraid to lose me. I am just another girl to him, but it’s the kind of thing you only realize in hindsight, not when you’re swept up in his lies. Carter only tells the truth when he’s tired of you and wants you to go away, just like he did with Erika. I don’t think he wants to get rid of me yet, so he’ll probably lie more, and I need to be braced for that. I know how convincing he can be. I have vivid recall of the night Erika first told me about this, the way Carter looked when he promised me nothing happened between them.

  I knew Carter was a gamble, so I shouldn’t be so surprised I lost.

  By the time I get to history class, I’m drained. It has been a long, sad, angering day, and I just want to go home and curl up in bed. Sleep off the disappointment. Sleep off Carter’s spell so I can get back to living my ordinary, Carter-less life.

  I’ve spent so much of my day with this new reality already that I’m taken off guard when Carter stops by my desk, a smile on his face, a twinkle in his eyes like everything is normal. Then I realize it is for him. I’ve had to live with this new reality, but he doesn’t even know anything has changed. I didn’t text him back once I got to class late, and I didn’t text him after that because I didn’t want to.

  “Hey, you,” Carter says, bending down to kiss me.

  I should pull away or turn my head, but since I know it’s the last kiss I’ll get from him, I go ahead and take it. Closing my eyes for the briefest of moments, I kiss him back. Unexpectedly, the brush of his lips causes tears to sting behind my eyes. A fist of sadness seems to have punched me in the stomach. I pull back and look down at my desk, trying to get my bearings.

  I shouldn’t have done that. I should have let whichever kiss we shared before I knew be the last one. It doesn’t matter that I can’t remember it. God willing, someday I won’t remember him.

  I know that won’t happen, though. I’ll never forget Carter Mahoney. He may not reside inside me as a good memory, but he’ll certainly be there.

  Carter touches my arm to get my attention. His dark brows are furrowed in confusion and he frowns. “Hey, you okay?”

  His presence right now is unbearable. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of having this conversation face-to-face. Maybe I should just text it to him. Maybe there’s no bravery in facing him, only more hurt. Only
more chances for him to fill my head with bullshit. The smartest thing to do is probably to cut him off, to never listen to another word he says. Never speak another word to him.

  “You should probably get to your seat,” I murmur, flipping open my notebook to a clean page. I grab my pen and write the date in the top right corner, doing my best to ignore Carter.

  Rather than going to his seat, he squats down by my desk and frowns at me more intensely. “Zoey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  “Carter, please,” I say, finally meeting his gaze. “Just…”

  “Just what?” he asks, completely lost.

  His confusion makes me ache with sympathy, and that’s infuriating. He doesn’t deserve my sympathy. He deserves a slap in the face, but I can see in his eyes that he’s genuinely confused. He wants to know what’s wrong, and he doesn’t understand why I’m not telling him.

  “Just leave me alone,” I say, shaking my head. My heart drops saying that, so I look at my empty sheet of notebook paper instead of his face. I don’t need any additional torture material; my heart is already being a real jerk to me.

  Carter rises slowly, even more confused now. I don’t look up, but I can feel him wanting to stay. Wanting to haul me out of this seat, drag me out into the hall, and demand to know what’s wrong.

  The teacher is standing right up front, though. In general, Carter has a lot of leeway, but this particular teacher doesn’t give Carter as long a leash and has already advised me to be careful with my ‘new friends.’ I doubt Mr. Hassenfeld would let Carter drag me out into the hall when he’s watching, especially if I gave any resistance. Carter must think the same thing, because after a moment’s consideration, he finally turns and walks slowly to his desk a couple rows over.