by L. D. Davis
That day, she had given me a hand shaped bruise on my cheek that I had to keep covered up with makeup. The only person who knew about it was Emmet, and that was purely by accident. He just happened to show up at my door one morning to drop off the sweater I had left in his car the day before when he drove Em and me – against his will – to the mall. I hadn’t had time to cover it up.
“You left this,” he grunted and thrust the sweater at me.
“Oh,” I said, taking the sweater. “You didn’t have to bring it.”
“I’m picking up the guys,” he grumbled. “I don’t need you and Emmy cluttering up my car.”
I rolled my eyes. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I said “Whatever. You could have thrown it in your trunk.”
“Then you would have bitched about me throwing your sweater in my ‘dirty trunk’,” he retorted.
Sometimes Emmet was an asshole. Not all of the time. Maybe not even part of the time, but sometimes.
I was just about to tell him that this was one of those times and tell him where he could take his cranky ass, but his hand shot out and firmly held my chin. I gasped softly when his hand made contact. Before I could turn away, he tilted my chin. His eyes narrowed and then widened and then narrowed again.
“Who hit you?” he asked with vehemence.
“Simmer down, big brother,” I said, pulling away from his hand. “It’s nothing.”
“You have a big ass bruise shaped like a hand across your face,” he growled, taking my chin again. “I’d say it’s something. Is it that guy you were talking to? Joe what’s-his-face?”
I peeled his fingers off of my face.
“His name is Jorge, and no. He didn’t hit me. I would have kicked his ass myself.”
Emmet looked at me with suspicion.
“Are you sure it wasn’t him? Was it any guy?”
My eyes rolled again and I sighed impatiently. It was a chilly morning. I wanted to close the door and go crawl back into my warm bed.
“No guy hit me, okay? Go pick up ‘your boys’ and go do whatever you nerds do on a Sunday morning while the rest of the teenage world is sleeping in or watching boring Sunday morning television.”
Emmet looked away and sighed. I thought he was going to leave, so I started to close the door. His hand flung out and held the door open.
“Someone hurt you, Donya,” he said softly. His green eyes looked at me imploringly.
My stupid fourteen year old heart fluttered. I had to remind myself that Emmet was not only way older than me, but he was my brother, more or less.
“She didn’t mean it,” I said softly and then glanced over my shoulder to make sure we were still alone. “I shouldn’t have pushed her.”
His eyes widened again. “Your mom? Your mom did that to you?”
I didn’t like admitting that my mom hit me. People already had a low opinion of her and I didn’t want to reinforce those low opinions.
“She didn’t mean it,” I said again, my tone pleading.
He made a disgusted sound and turned his back on me for a moment. His hands were fisted at his hips. I looked at the back of his letterman jacket and wondered what lucky girl was going to eventually get to wear it. I was sure by the time the football season ended it would be draped across some girl’s shoulders. Emmet was a good looking guy, a very good looking guy. I was impressed he didn’t use his looks to bed the girls that fell over him like some of the other guys did.
He turned back around and looked at me very carefully.
“How many times before did she hit you?” he asked quietly.
I looked over my shoulder again. “Nothing like this,” I answered.
“How many times?” he insisted.
“I don’t know,” I said after some hesitation. I leaned in the doorway with my arms crossed defensively.
Emmet stepped towards me and stopped a few inches away. We stared at each other for a long moment. He smelled good. He always smelled good. It was messing with my head while I was trying to not look intimidated by his glare.
“She’s never hit me like this before,” I breathed, giving in. “Ever.”
“But she has hit you,” he said.
“Yeah, and so has your mom. Your mom whooped my ass with a wooden spoon.”
He tried not to laugh, but a smile snuck up on his face. “We all got it that day. It was all your fault.”
“I threw the turkey to you,” I said, smiling. “It’s not my fault you didn’t catch it, Mr. Football star.”
He snickered and ran a hair through his semi-long dark hair, pushing some of it off his forehead.
“Yeah,” he agreed. He looked at me again and his smile faded. “You would tell me if anyone ever seriously hurt you, right? You would tell me if this happens again?”
“Yes,” I said quicker than I meant to. “Now get out of here.” I waved him away. “I’m cold.”
“Alright,” he said, backing away.
Again, I started to close the door, but he turned around and stopped me again.
“Now what?” I whined.
He looked at me like he wanted to say something but couldn’t get it out. Finally, he blew out an exasperated breath and said “Nothing. See you at dinner tonight?”
“Of course.”
He smiled at me. My heart fluttered. I closed the door.
It was several weeks later, and though the bruise was gone, I could still feel the sting of her hand connecting with my face. I wasn’t going to keep asking her if she needed anything. I wasn’t going to suggest a shower or a brush or a toothbrush or anything. I told her I would be gone for the weekend and I left.
I pulled my jacket tight around me as I made the quick walk to Emmy’s. It was late October. All of the summery days were gone. Winter was only a couple of months away, shaking its fist at us, and waiting for its turn.
I walked into the Grayne house, my real home, without knocking. I smelled something good cooking in the kitchen and it made my stomach rumble. I didn’t eat much at lunch in school, because Jorge Alta had stopped me in the hallway for a chat. He was a senior, a good looking guy like Emmet, but with a bit of a bad boy flare. He seemed to have his own rules and it seemed that those around him abided by them. It didn’t hurt that he was charming as all hell when he wanted to be. At lunch, he wanted to charm me of all people. Me, the little freshman girl.
As far as looks went, I thought I was pretty enough. I was a little bit taller than most of the girls in my class and slim, maybe too slim. Every day I felt my boobs to see if they had grown anymore only to be disappointed that they had not. My hair was shoulder length and jet black, and my skin tone was as Emmy dreamily described as “milk yummy chocolate.” My eyes were weird though. They seem to be in direct contrast to my darker features. My eyes are a light brown – almost green looking.
Did I think I was pretty? No. I thought I was fair. I didn’t think badly about myself, but I didn’t spend hours in front of a mirror obsessing either. I knew there were much better looking girls in the school, but I was inwardly thrilled that Jorge was talking to me. So, I missed most of lunch, and only had time to eat an apple on my way to my next class.
I walked into the kitchen at Emmy’s and grabbed a banana off of the table.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked as a greeting.
Sam was at the stove, stirring something in a pot, wearing one of her infamous aprons. As much as the woman tended to irritate me and the general population, she cooked very well.
“Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans,” she said, fidgeting with the collar on my jacket.
I batted her hand away. “Where’s Fred?”
She sighed. “You never want to just sit and talk to me, do ya? Always gotta run to him.”
“I sat with you for an hour last night,” I argued, heading toward the back door. “You gave me an hour long lecture on proper moisturizing and told me repeatedly how much you think I need a hairstyle change.”
She gave a little shrug. “Well
…I think you need to work on those things.”
I sighed patiently. “I’m fourteen years old, Sam. You should be lucky that I’m not pierced and inked and pregnant.”
I opened the door and went outside.
“Hey, Kiddo,” Fred smiled at me when he saw me come out. He was wearing gloves and carrying around gardening equipment.
“What are you doing?” I asked him, taking a couple of rakes off his hands.
“Just finished raking the yard,” he said. “And doing some other things to get ready for the winter. I have a feeling we’re going to get a lot of snow this year.”
“You said that last year and it rained most of the time,” I pointed out.
He chuckled and said “Right, and you complained about your hair getting wet.”
“Despite the fact that I am basically your kid, I am still a black kid, and I don’t want my hair wet, Fred.”
He laughed again. “I’ll buy you an umbrella. How’s your mom?”
“You have asked me that almost every day for years. The same.”
“She’s still a person, Donya,” he said in a lecturing tone as he took the rakes from me. “She should still be inquired after as such.”
I felt a little guilty for thinking of her as any less than a person, but she kinda was in my eyes. She was just a shell really.
I followed Fred around the yard for a little while longer. We didn’t talk about anything of importance. He asked about school and I told him about my grades and about a big project I had coming up. I didn’t tell him about Jorge. He wasn’t the kind of parent that was okay with his teenage daughters dating, especially older boys.
Hanging out with Fred was always peaceful. He was mild tempered and kind, unless given a reason to be otherwise. The fact that he was able to live with Sam for so long was a true testament of his remarkable patience. Sometimes it was hard to squeeze in any time with him when the older kids were home, but Freddy, Charlotte, and Lucille were all out of the house now. They were all in college or married and living down south and only showed up once in a while. Now it was just Emmet, Emmy, and – I guess I could count myself – left in the house. I sucked up as much time as I could get from him, since I rarely got any with my own dad. I stayed outside with him until Sam yelled that it was time for dinner.
Emmy and I ate dinner quickly before rushing upstairs to get ready for a party we had no business going to. Emmet was on our heels, heading towards his own room.
“What are you girls in rush for?” he asked, from his door. He looked at us with suspicion.
“None of your business,” Emmy snapped. “Why are you in such a hurry, jock?”
His eyes narrowed. At me. Why?
“What?” I asked with annoyance.
“I saw you talking to Jorge in the hallway today.”
“What’s it to you?”
“If he invited you to his party, you better have declined,” Emmet said, sounding like a tough guy.
I mocked him using a very proper accent. “If he invited you to his party, you better have declined.”
Emmy and I laughed, and then we squealed when Emmet rushed at us. We jumped back into Em’s room and tried to shut the door, but Emmet held it open with his body weight.
“Get off of the door, you freak!” Emmy yelled.
“I better not see either one of you there!” he yelled. “It’s not a place for little girls!”
Emmy and I looked at each other and with unspoken knowledge of what needed to be done, we both jumped back away from the door. It flew open and Emmet fell on the floor. We laughed again, but then he was up, chasing us around Emmy’s room. He was really mad, but I found it really funny, even as I ran away screaming. Emmy ran into her bathroom and slammed the door, leaving me to my own devices. Some friend.
I held my hands up in defeat, breathing a little hard from running and screaming. “Okay, I’m done running.”
When he advanced on me anyway, I dashed away and jumped onto Emmy’s bed. I jumped off of the other side, intent on running into the hall and into one of the other bedrooms, but I was only a couple of feet into the hallway when I felt Emmet’s arms around my waist. My breath left my body too fast and I suddenly felt light headed. I stopped struggling against him and tried to relax long enough to start breathing again. His breath was hot on my ear and it made me feel uneasy and…well…thrilled.
“Jorge is not a good guy,” he whispered in my ear. “I don’t want to see you at that party tonight. I mean it.”
Then he was gone. I heard his bedroom door close and I was left alone in the hallway.
*~*~*
Like Emmet Grayne was the boss of me.
Emmy and I waited until Emmet was gone before we lied to the parents about where we were going and casually walked out the door. Jorge’s house was on the other side of town. There was no way we were going to walk there, but lucky for us Emmy was a big flirt and flirted her way into a ride from a junior guy. She sat up front with Reed and I sat in the back with another junior guy whose name I didn’t know and didn’t care to learn. He was kind of a dick. Fortunately the ride was a short one.
“What are we going to do if Emmet sees us?” Emmy asked, biting her lip as we walked arm in arm towards the house.
“If, Em?” I gave her look. “Seriously? Jorge’s house isn’t even half the size of yours. Of course we’re going to run into Emmet. I don’t know what we’re going to do. I don’t think he will cause a scene.”
We walked into the house and I think we were both a little startled by the amount of people that was stuffed into the house. It must have been bursting at the seams. There were clouds of smoke, some from cigarettes, some from not cigarettes. The music was thunderous and in every direction we looked in, people were drinking, dancing, or making out, or all three all at once.
“I guess we’re done with the little princess parties,” Emmy said in my ear.
“I don’t know about you,” I grinned. “But I’m still a princess.”
She grinned back at me and together we moved deep into the party.
Jorge found me a little while later. He was already quite buzzed, but still held a red cup full of liquid in each hand. He offered one to me, but I had seen enough talk shows to know that guys slipped things into girls’ drinks. He wasn’t Special K-ing me. I took the drink anyway, though, and pretended to sip it while we shouted to each other over the noise. I looked around for Emmy. We had promised to stay within eyesight of each other. After a moment, I saw the top of her head as she danced with Reed, red plastic cup in hand. I hoped she didn’t drink from it.
I thought about looking around for Emmet, too. Just to watch my back, but I didn’t want to. He had kind of freaked me out earlier with the heavy breathing in my ear. It did funny things to my chest and other things I wasn’t yet old enough to acknowledge. So, I told myself I wasn’t going to look for him. I wouldn’t look.
I turned away from Jorge once more and looked off to my right. Through the sea of people, I met Emmet’s eyes. Shit. How? Through all of these people? Did my eyes go right to his? I looked at him with surprise, but then looked away when his eyes narrowed.
Thank goodness, Jorge was leading me in the opposite direction. I put my cup down on a table as we went, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He led me into the kitchen. It was still pretty crowded in there, but not as bad as the other rooms. Jorge looked at my empty hand and frowned.
“I thought I gave you a drink,” he said, thinking about it really hard.
I shrugged and smiled. He smiled back. “That’s okay. We can do some shots.”
I looked through the open kitchen doorway for Emmy. I didn’t see her. I was a little worried, but not that worried. What was the worst that could happen with her brother only a few feet away from her? I almost laughed out loud, because Emmet was definitely the worst thing that could happen to her.
Jorge poured four shots out of a big red, square bottle I watched him open. I knew the bottle was new, so I didn’t worry about bei
ng tranquilized. He handed me a shot and clinked his glass with mine.
“What is it?” I asked, looking at the red liquid.
“Aftershock,” he grinned. “It tastes like Big Red gum with a kick.”
I shrugged. I liked Big Red. I took the shot.
“Holy fuck!” I yelled a moment later as I felt the stuff burning down my throat.
Jorge laughed and handed me the second shot. I had just had my very first shot and he was already handing me another. I had sips of wine before, and Emmy and I shared a beer once over the summer, but I had never done anything hard. One shot was going to impair me. Two shots were going to knock me on my ass.
“You’re really pretty,” Jorge said in my ear as I contemplated the shot.
He took his shot and looked at me expectantly. He was really cute. I took it.
Four more shots later, Emmet finally caught up with me. He had Emmy - who looked as fucked up as I felt - by the arm.
“Let’s go,” he said angrily. “Now.”
Jorge’s arm was around me. He held me a little bit closer, throwing us both off balance. We giggled as we tried to find our footing.
“She’s fine where she is, Grayne,” Jorge said coolly to Emmet.
“She doesn’t look fine,” he snapped and then beckoned me with a wave of his hand. “Let’s go, Donya.”
Jorge looked down at me, got nose to nose with me. I could feel his hot breath on my lips. “You don’t have to go anywhere with him. He’s not your daddy. He’s nothing.”
I laughed hysterically. Jorge laughed with me though neither of us knew what we were really laughing at.
“He’s my brother,” I managed through my laughter.
Jorge laughed harder, too. This was funny. This was freakin’ hilarious.
“I’m not your brother,” Emmet bit out.
My laughter died. That kind of hurt. Emmet was always my brother. Now he was being mean and saying he wasn’t. Was he embarrassed? Was it because I was black and he was white?
I frowned and pressed myself closer to Jorge.
“You’re right,” I said. “You’re not my brother. You’re nothing.”