My Deliberate Mistake

by Claire Svendsen

  Just great. I'm going to be stuck in a tiny room for a month, scrunched up on the bottom bunk underneath a girl who's weirder than I am? God help me.

  “We have our own closets. Look.”

  I can tell Emily is trying to soften the blow with her sugary sweet charm. She shows me the tiny closet where I can put all my things in total privacy. Never mind the fact that there isn’t a lock in sight.

  “I’ll leave you to get settled in.”

  She backs away as I throw my bag down on the floor in frustration. She’s probably glad she’s not bunking with me after all. Better that the two weirdo’s room together so they don’t contaminate everyone else.

  “Well she’s a bitch,” Julia whispers.

  “Dinner’s at six. Just go back the way we came and then follow the green hall to the kitchen. That’s where we eat since there aren’t too many of us. All right then. See you later. Bye.”

  Her words all run together as she backs away and disappears. I wonder if I’ll be seeing much of Emily again. She probably thinks I’m nuts or at the very least unfriendly. She wouldn’t be far wrong. I kick the bunk bed and feel some of the pent up frustration ebb away. I’m not here to make friends. All I need is a table, some canvas and some God damned quiet. I can hear the faint beat of some techno junk playing down the hall. I grab the bed post and focus on my breathing.

  “It’s time for your pills,” Julia says. “You know that’s why you’re feeling this way.”

  My damn sister. Even dead and in my head she’s still the voice of reason and I know she’s right but I don’t want to feel blunted anymore. Is it wrong not to want to go through life as a zombie? My parents and Big Sally want to suck the life out of me, as though somehow that will bring Julia back and make me normal but it won’t. I know it won’t. It just makes everything worse.

  “Just take the damn pills and get it over with. You can always skip them tomorrow.”

  I think of all the external stimuli I’m about to be confronted with, the other kids, the weirdo roommate, the pressure of being good enough. I rummage in my bag until I find the amber bottles of poison and swallow down the pills with my lukewarm water.

  “Well done,” Julia says.

  Well done indeed.

  9.

  I end up falling asleep on my stupid bottom bunk. The mattress is lumpy and the pillow feels like it’s full of rocks but that's what the pills are for. They make it so I don’t care. I've told Big Sally that they do this but she shrugs off my concerns. Teenagers sleep a lot, she says, it’s good that you get your rest. I try to tell her they make me sleep at inappropriate times and more often than not I'm awake half the night but my protests go unheard. Here's your bottle of happy pills, take them and you'll forget all about the sister you killed and the parents who hate you. You'll wake up and the world will be full of roses and rainbows, everyone will love you and you’ll ride off into the sunset on a golden pony. Actually I wouldn’t have minded that part so much. I always wanted a horse but when the parents found out how much riding camp cost that dream was quickly filed away under 'never speak of horses again.'

  I wake to a loud crash. Shit scared, I bolt upright and hit my head on the bottom of the bed above me. It's going to be one hell of a long summer. The door to the room has slammed open and hit the wall so hard little pieces of plaster still trickle out of the hole the handle made. Standing there is a hulking girl in dungarees and work boots. Her long brown hair has been fastened in two braids and she's not wearing any makeup, unlike Emily who looked like she'd just stepped out of a beauty pageant for five year olds. I presume this must be my charming roommate. She takes one look at me, no doubt taking in my black clothes and sour expression, then smiles.

  “Thank God. Finally a normal person.”

  Her voice is raspy and deep like Noah’s but I try to hide my surprise. The last thing I need is to get the shit kicked out of me on the first day. I usually reserve my bar brawls for day two.

  “I'm Norma.”

  She strides over and sticks out a hand. I take it and we shake, hers pummeling mine up and down like she's pumping for oil.

  “Ana,” I say.

  She throws herself onto the top bunk and the mattress groans under the weight and sags closer to my face. By the end of the summer I'm pretty sure the bed will have collapsed on top of me but there is no way I'm fighting Norma for the privilege of top bunk. She'll cream me.

  “I've come to get you for dinner. They said you'd never find your way down and I know they're right because I spent two hours wandering around here yesterday trying to find the damn bathroom. I mean what kind of a college is this anyway?”

  I don't answer but I'm starting to wonder the same thing. Perhaps it’s an insane asylum after all, masquerading as an art program for desperate, outcast teenagers who need a scholarship. They’re probably observing us right now through two way mirrors and tiny cameras placed in the cooling vents. I don't tell any of this to Norma.

  Dinner reminds me of the psych ward. There are fights over who gets the last roll and debates over how many calories are in the macaroni and cheese and why we are even eating macaroni and cheese since we aren't five anymore. The only distinguishable difference is that there are real utensils instead of plastic ones and no one is patrolling the tables making sure kids don't stab each other to death with their plastic forks. The last time I was in there a guy slit his wrists with a plastic knife. After that we had to eat with our fingers for a week.

  I sit at a table with Norma, Emily and a bunch of people I don't know. Emily spends most of her time talking with the other girls at the table. Everyone looks normal and boring, it’s such a letdown. I was hoping we would get a blue haired girl or someone who’d shaved their head in protest of the state of the country or animal slaughter. Not even any visible tattoos and definitely no nose rings. What a bummer. I get the sick feeling I’ve come to the wrong school. Perhaps I should have pushed for an art program in New York at some edgy, new wave college. Damn it. It’s too late now. I’m stuck here and Norma is going on about how macaroni was served in ancient times. I've tuned her out and am staring out the window. It’s still raining. Fat drops falling down from a gray sky. Gray like the mood that has settled over me.

  “I thought the thunderstorms were supposed to sweep in and out quickly here?” I suddenly blurt out.

  Everyone looks at me. I think it's the first time I've opened my mouth since I asked where the mayonnaise was.

  “They normally do,” Emily shrugs before going back to an apparently engrossing discussion on hair straightening products.

  There's a dull throb behind my eyes. The weather is giving me a headache. I'm prone to migraines, thanks to the accident or the stress or maybe it's just a side effect from all the medications I'm on. God knows they have so many. They have pills for the side effects too. They have pills for everything.

  “And then,” Norma carries on, “I put the macaroni in the container and buried it. Can you believe it? I buried the sucker!”

  I look at Norma like she's some kind of alien.

  “I'm not feeling well. I'm going to bed.”

  “All right. Suit yourself.”

  I can tell she's disappointed. I've not turned out to be the outcast buddy she'd hoped I would be but the company and the constant conversations are exhausting. Doesn't anyone just like to sit in silence anymore? How can they stand it? The constant chatter is like being in a room with a bunch of birds. Even the boys are chatting away about how many girls they've bagged at their schools and the cars they are fixing up back home. I dump my uneaten macaroni into the trash and escape, fleeing past a handful of adults standing awkwardly in the hall. They must be our zoo keepers. God help us. They look scared to death. I keep my head down and carry on.

  My plan is to go to bed but once outside of the kitchen, the hush I felt before sweeps over me and I can breathe again. Maybe it won’t be so bad to do a little exploring. After all, I can’t follow Norma around forever. Might as well
get my bearings now and then I can avoid all human contact as much as possible.

  10.

  I roam the hallways, taking in the paintings and architecture. The place is amazing. I still can’t believe that it's a college. I start to notice a pattern. Hallways are color coded and match the rooms they lead into. Most are empty classrooms used during the school year, now vacant and hollow. The tables and chairs have been pushed against the walls, the floors polished and cleaned. The echo of long gone students still hangs in the air like a damp fog.

  I finally find the art rooms at the end of the dark purple hallway. The color suits my mood, almost black but not quite there yet. But wandering into the rooms, I start to feel like a kid on Christmas. Stacks of fresh canvases and tubes of unopened paint beg to be spread with the new brushes sitting in empty glass jars. I run my fingers over the brushes, pick one up and touch it to my cheek. Soft yet firm, its bristles send a shiver down my spine. I long to take the cap off a tube, spread the oil over the canvas and paint the night away but I don’t have the nerve. The last thing I need is to be kicked out before the course has even started. I put the brush down and move on.

  The sculpture room is full of wet clay stacked on tables. The windows are black, my reflection gauntly staring back at me until lightning streaks across the sky. I jump back, heart pounding. I’m pretty sure I saw a lake out there, glinting in the dark. This can’t be happening. Not here. Not now. Not another lake.

  I’ve stumbled into the corner, my feet tangled in a sheet covering a statue. It’s taller than I am, standing on a pedestal. A nonexistent breeze makes the folds of fabric sway in and out like the damn thing is breathing.

  “Pull it off,” Julia whispers.

  I don’t want to. I don’t want to know what’s under there. But I can’t breathe and I can’t move and for some reason I can’t resist the urge to pull the cover off. Despite every cell in my body protesting, my arm is suspended in midair. My fingers close around the sheet when I hear a noise behind me.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  The shriek that comes out of my mouth is high pitched and hysterical. The guy standing in the doorway laughs.

  “You scared me,” I fumble over my words, embarrassed.

  “Sorry but I couldn’t let you peek. It’s against the rules.”

  “Whose rules?”

  “Mine.”

  He walks into the room, sucking out all the oxygen as he does. I still can’t breathe. Not because he scared the crap out of me or the fact that the lake is out there haunting me through the darkness. It’s because I can’t stop looking at his brown eyes and the way his blond hair brushes his cheekbones. He rubs clay stained hands on his pants and sticks one out to shake mine.

  “Mark,” he grins lopsidedly.

  “Ana.”

  He takes my hand in his and our eyes lock.

  “So Ana,” he lets go of my hand. “What’s your story?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know. Your baggage, what is it?”

  Oh, the usual. My parents hate me because I killed my sister and now I can’t get her out of my head and she’s driving me insane. But of course I don’t actually say that.

  “Why do you care?” I say instead.

  He walks past me, smoothing down the sheet on the statue with tender care. He smells of musk and earth. I imagine him running those hands over my bare flesh instead. He circles the statue, feigning indifference.

  “I like to know what makes people tick, that’s all.”

  He sounds like Big Sally.

  “Art makes me tick,” I say. “My paintings. That’s all I care about.”

  “What about love?”

  He’s come back around and stands in front of me, a mischievous smile on his face. He’s dark and brooding and sexy. He’s the anti-Noah and all I want is for him to kiss me.

  “I don’t give a shit about love,” I say but for the first time that feels like a lie.

  “Good. Neither do I.”

  He leans in and I know he’s going to kiss me but instead of falling into him like I want to, I step back against the statue.

  “I don’t know you,” I say.

  “You don’t have to,” he whispers.

  He brushes a thumb against my cheek, across my jaw and then it’s gently flicking across my lips. I let out a moan, I can’t help it. This one innocuous touch is the most erotic thing anyone has ever done to me. And then it’s gone. I literally whimper.

  “Shhhhhh,” he says softly.

  And suddenly he’s kissing me. His lips tasting mine. I’m kissing him back like I’ve never been kissed before, and I haven’t. Not like this. He’s leaning into me, his hand under my shirt. Fire blazes across my skin where he touches me, my waist, around my ribs. I suck in my stomach hoping he doesn’t think I’m fat but now his hand cups my breast. The thumb that grazed my lip so sensuously now does the same to my nipple. My legs go weak and I fall into him.

  “Hold onto me,” he whispers.

  And I do. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know who he is or that the lake winks evilly in flashes of lightening that streak through the clouds. It only matters that I’m holding onto him for dear life. He trails kisses down my neck, fingers unbuttoning my shirt and unhooking my bra. Then takes my breast in his mouth and teases it softly, nipping it gently with his teeth as I let out a squeak. Pain and pleasure merging together so I don’t know which way is up or down. I’m clutching him to stop the world from spinning and I hold him desperately as his hand slides down into my pants. My head is pressed against his chest as he softly rubs the wet I know he finds there. Circling. Pressing. In and out. I think I might die. I’m not even inside my body. I’m floating on a cloud of pure white pleasure, coasting away until the wave’s crash against me. I come down hard, biting his shoulder to stop from screaming. I’m still clutching onto him like a life raft as I hear footsteps in the hallway. Mark jumps away from me like I’m on fire.

  “Don’t say anything,” he whispers.

  Seconds later Emily wanders into the room, her mind obviously on something else until she sees us. I’ve buttoned my shirt and smoothed down my hair but I know I probably still look all flushed and slutty.

  “Hello Mr. Richardson,” she says.

  Mr. Richardson? I stare at him, at that deep brooding face. Please God, tell me I haven’t done what I think I have. But Mark isn’t looking at me. He’s smiling at Emily, that fake sort of smile when deep down you hate someone but you don’t want them to know.

  “I was just telling Ana that the statue is off limits.” He pats the sheet again lovingly.

  “Yes. We know.” Emily rolls her eyes like she’s heard it a million times already. “Norma sent me to look for you. She was worried you were lost or something.”

  “I was,” I lie.

  “Well, it’s getting late girls,” Mark walks away from me. “You should head up to bed.”

  “Yes. We should.” I rush past him and grab Emily’s arm.

  “See you in class Mr. Richardson,” she calls out as I drag her down the hallway.

  My heart is pounding, my legs are still weak and it dawns on me that I’ve just been to third base with a teacher. I steal a glance over my shoulder and catch him grinning at me. Despite myself I grin back. I don’t care who or what he is. I think I’m in love.

  11.

  I don't sleep well because Norma snores. It’s hardly surprising but then neither is the fact that I can’t get Mark out of my head. His fingers inside me, lips pressed against mine as I came in his arms. I shift in the bed and the mattress squeaks. I wonder what he’s doing right now. Sleeping alone in a rusty old college bed? Or has he already moved on to the next girl who’ll let him do more than just finger her. I want him to do more. I want him to do everything. If I spend the whole summer lost in his arms then I won’t listen to Julia. I won’t be tempted to go down to the lake.

  The night is full of endless tossing and turning on my lumpy mattress while above N
orma sinks ever closer to my face. When I do sleep it’s in fits and starts of a nightmare I can't escape. Water closing in around me. The creak and groan of the car as it is sucked downward. I can't breathe, I can't scream. I can't do anything. I wake sweaty and frightened with my heart pounding in my chest and body shaking. I lie there in the dark, thinking of the painting I’ll start the following day. How I'll tease Noah about not staying here when he comes to class. Where I’ll find Mark and more importantly what he’ll do when he sees me again. Anything to take my mind off the dream and the horror but nothing works. Eventually I slip into the dream again, replaying it over and over in my mind. When the first rays of light begin to peak through the window I figure enough is enough.

  Stepping barefoot down the hall I go into the bathroom I found the following night. White, antique basins line the wall below stained mirrors. On the other side are stalls with toilets. The showers are in the back. No tubs. No chance of slitting my wrists and submerging myself in warm water to make the blood flow faster. Big Sally would be pleased but honestly suicide is the last thing on my mind this morning. Instead I let the hot water run over me and my hand slips down to touch the flesh Mark claimed as his own the night before. Despite the heat, shivers race up and down my spine. I imagine him stepping into the stream of water with me and pressing his naked body against mine. Willingly giving every part of myself to him. I’ve never wanted to do that before. I’ve had lots of sex and I’ve never felt anything. Let guys do whatever they want because when they are inside me, Julia is not but I’ve never felt pleasure or pain. I’ve never felt anything until Mark touched me.

  The voices of other girls snap my hand away from my body. They’re grumbling about the sleeping arrangements and the mattresses. Reluctantly I leave the shower and the memory of Mark behind.

  I'm still dressed before anyone else. In the kitchen there is stale cereal and cold toast. I grab a lumpy muffin, ignoring the fact that it's loaded with calories and before I know it I'm out in the early morning sun. It's muggy but cooler after the previous night’s rain. Noah is right, there are mosquitoes the size of flowers that land on my arm and try to suck my blood before I can slap them away. I follow the path between beds of flowers and past statues of naked women. Their breasts are small and eyes wide. One is covering her crotch with a stone leaf. As if that's going to help. I wonder where the statues of the naked men are. I don't see any. Probably some old noble woman had all the male statues destroyed after her lover ran off with the maid. I bet she lopped all their stone dicks off for good measure too. I can see it now. Sad and yet incredibly satisfying. Chills run up and down my spine. Suddenly I feel alone and exposed.