The Rule Breaker

by Cat Carmine

  I fumble with his belt as he hikes up my dress. I’m only wearing a small thong — panty lines, you know — and that means his hands cup my bare skin, singing me.

  There’s a polite smattering of applause from somewhere beyond these walls, and I realize we’re missing the start of the event. At this exact second, I don’t care. I don’t even care that my sister is probably out there wondering where I am. I only care about this moment, about filling this unmet desire.

  There’s a muffled voice as the speeches get started, but I lose myself in Tyler again. Rori can fend for herself for ten minutes. Twenty, tops.

  A soft whirring noise comes from somewhere to the side of us — not the way we’d entered the room, but the far side. It’s too dark to really see anything, but I glance over Tyler’s shoulder.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” He doesn’t stop kissing me.

  “That noise. It’s like … a motor.”

  He finally pulls away. “Oh yeah, I hear it now. What is that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  There’s the sound of metal tugging against metal, and the motor kicks up a notch. A slant of light falls over Tyler’s face. I squint up at him in confusion.

  “What…”

  “Oh. Fuck.” In the slant of light, his face pales.

  “What?”

  The swath of light becomes wider, and then a collective gasp comes from behind us. I freeze.

  Tyler looks down at me. “I am so, so sorry, Emma,” he murmurs. He takes his hands off my ass, but my dress stays bunched around my waist.

  I crane my neck slowly, oh so slowly, to look behind me. Hundreds of silent, shocked faces stare up at us. The string quartet has stopped playing. No one speaks. The only sound is the racing of my own heart.

  “This is entertainment,” a stereo voice suddenly booms. “This is Good Grant Media.”

  I whip my head around again, and behind Tyler, the white projection screen is flashing the Good Grant logo. Under my feet, I can feel the vibration of the speakers as the video rolls.

  The realization hits me slowly and then all at once. That the room we’d stumbled into wasn’t a room at all, but a part of the ballroom that had been temporarily sealed off to hide the projection screen.

  And that now that wall has opened … leaving us standing on stage in front of the entire room of gala attendees.

  I turn my head back to the crowd again and find that no one is watching the video. Everyone is still staring at us.

  Or more specifically, at me. My ass.

  Oh sweet Jesus.

  I grope frantically at my dress, tugging it down.

  I can’t bear this. Oh God. I whip my head around, trying to see a way out. There’s a small set of stairs that leads off the stage and into the crowd, but there’s no way I’ll be able to make it down the stairs. I glance back towards the door we’d originally entered from — it’s hidden from the view of the crowd, and seems to be my best option.

  I scan the floor for my crutches, which I’d dropped earlier, in the heat of the moment. They’re by my feet, but when I bend over to grab them, I can’t quite reach. I look up at Tyler in horror, my eyes pleading with him to fix this.

  He looks almost as horrified as I feel. A bead of sweat forms on his forehead as he gazes out over the crowd. He swallows. When his eyes meet mine, I gesture at the crutches. As if glad to have something to do, he eagerly reaches down and scoops them up for me.

  I hurry towards the door, off the stage. Except there’s no hurrying with these crutches. Every step seems to take a thousand years. Every thud of the crutches against the stage floor seems to echo through the entire ballroom. It’s a slow-motion nightmare.

  I half limp, half drag myself to the door. It takes forever, and every second is excruciating. If there’s a version of hell that’s customized for every person, this would be mine. Complete and utter humiliation.

  I finally, finally reach the door. I unlock it, then burst into the hallway in a delirious frenzy. It isn’t until I’m gulping in what feels like the freshest air I’ve ever tasted that I realize … Tyler’s not behind me.

  Twenty-Three

  I’m trapped. Emma starts to hobble slowly away, but my eyes are glued to my father, who’s marching towards the stage. He climbs the short staircase in a red-faced huff, then grabs my arm. His fingers dig in.

  “My son Tyler, ladies and gentlemen,” he chuckles loudly. “Takes after his old man in more ways than one.”

  The crowd laughs appreciatively, glad to have the moment of tension broken. My father looks jovial, but when he pins me with his glare, his eyes are icy cold.

  “Let’s get on with the video, shall we?” He gives a slight bow, then drags me by the arm, back down the stage into the crowd. I flash back to all those moments as a kid, being manhandled for acting out. Dad never had much patience for childish antics, and it doesn’t seem like much has changed.

  The video, which had been paused by someone, resumes playing. It’s some kind of montage, all of Good Grant’s highlights from the last year. It barely registers in my brain — all I can think about is Emma. I have to find her. Now.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” my father hisses, now that everyone’s attention is off of us and back on the projection screen at the front of the room.

  “We can talk about this later,” I say, yanking my arm out of his grip. I know he has a right to be mad, but I’ll have to deal with that later. I’m already scanning the room, hoping I’ll see Emma or even Rori. There are too many people. Too many suits, too many faces. I push my way through them. My heart is thudding in my chest, pounding out a painful rhythm against my ribs.

  I head for the doors that lead out of the ballroom, thinking maybe they might have escaped out into the hall where it’s quieter. A couple of people try to stop me as I go, maybe just to talk, but I don’t stop long enough to find out. I’m singularly focused on finding Emma. I can’t believe this is happening again. She’s going to kill me, and this time I can’t say I blame her.

  As soon as I turn the corner into the hallway, I see them. They’re easy to spot — Emma looking like the grieving widow, hunched over in her long black dress, and Rori beside her in blue. They’re huddled together on a little settee near the door to the room I’d taken Emma into. How the fuck had I missed the fact that it was actually the projection room? I’ve been to about a gazillion events here, but I guess I never made the connection.

  “Emma!” My voice carries down the corridor. A few people stop and stare, but I barely notice. I pick up the pace, almost running.

  Emma stands when she sees me. There’s something almost regal about the way she does it — slow, poised, graceful. Even with the crutches. She holds her head high, her chin tipped towards me. I can tell she’s been crying, but she looks more composed now, even though her eyes are still rimmed red.

  “I’m so sorry,” I blurt, as soon as I’m close enough. “This is all my fault.”

  Emma shakes her head. “I don’t blame you.”

  She has a sad smile on her face, but her voice is steady. I try to smile back, but I’m getting an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “You don’t?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t. I blame myself, Tyler. I knew the first night I met you that this was a huge mistake. I tried to ignore it for a while but tonight has made it abundantly clear.”

  I swallow. My throat has shrunk to the size of a ballpoint pen. All the muscles in my neck tense.

  “What are you saying, Emma?”

  She touches my cheek softly. “I’m saying goodbye, Tyler.”

  Something in my chest cracks open.

  “Go home and get some sleep,” I say hastily, ignoring the words that just came out of her mouth. “I think we could both use it. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t bother,” she says. She’s still smiling, almost benevolently, like she’s a goddess deigning to speak to a mere mortal like me. Her mascar
a is smeared down her cheeks, but her grey eyes are dry and clear.

  Her hand drops away from my cheek, and she turns to face her sister. She nods to the door, and Rori jumps to her feet, almost as if she too is a mere subject of the goddess before her.

  Emma starts walking towards the main doors of the hotel, with Rori scrambling behind her. Even with the crutches, she looks like a queen as she sails over the marble tile.

  “Emma!” I call, running my hands through my hair. I feel frozen in space, in time.

  Emma doesn’t turn around. Rori sneaks a glance back at me, giving a small shrug of her shoulders.

  I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t exactly say she’s being unreasonable, but … I can’t let her walk away, either.

  I start to follow her down the hallway, the smooth soles of my dress shoes sliding over the tile the faster I try to walk. With Emma on her crutches, they’re not exactly moving at a cheetah’s pace, and I’d be able to reach them easily before they reached the front door.

  That is, if a firm hand didn’t suddenly wrap around my bicep.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” my father growls. I spin around to face him. His face is still red, and there’s a bead of sweat on his forehead that looks poised to run down over his brow at any minute.

  “Let go of me,” I hiss back. I try to wrench my arm away, but his grip is firm, and to be honest, I’m kinda worried about being too rough. His face is so red that he could put a ripe tomato to shame, and I’m half afraid he’s about to have a heart attack.

  “How could you humiliate me like that? You know this business means everything to me.”

  Everything. I want to scoff. I want to ask him if his family means anything, if his marriage means anything, but I don’t think I want to know the answer to that. Somehow, I think that when my father says his business means everything to him, he really does mean everything.

  “Just when I was starting to think maybe I could trust you,” he huffs. “The way you presented that annual report at our meeting today, I thought, my, that boy turned out all right, after all. But no. Just another God damned disappointment, just like your sister.”

  My stomach sinks. I’m furious, but there’s shame there too. Not from being with Emma, but the shame of knowing that he’s right, that I’m still Tyler the fuck-up, better suited to that #trustfundlife than to any real responsibility. In one fell swoop, I’d managed to ruin things with Emma and my father. That has to be some kind of self-sabotaging record or something.

  “Look, Dad, I want to talk to you about this. I really do,” I insist, running my hands through my hair. “But right now I have to go find Emma.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” my father fumes. “We have a gala to continue hosting. Get back in there and do the job I hired you to do.”

  I shake my head. “No way. I have to go find Emma.”

  “Tyler, I’m warning you — walk out that door, and first thing Monday, I’m going to open a competition to hire a new CEO.”

  That stops me for a second. But I picture the look on Emma’s face as she turned away from me, and I know that I’ll hate myself forever if I don’t go to her and try to fix this. It’s already been almost five minutes since she and her sister walked out, and unless I get extremely lucky and find them still outside, they’re probably already in a cab and on their way home by now.

  So I walk away from my father. I can feel his gaze on me as I make my way down the hallway, towards the exit, but when I reach the doors I turn around, and he’s gone. I blink a couple of times and push the heavy doors open and step out into the cool night air.

  There are more than a few of the gala guests gathered on the front steps, some of them mingling and chatting, some of them huddled down on the sidewalks, smoking. My eyes flick over every single one of them, looking for the only one who matters, but I can’t see her anywhere.

  I’m about to give up hope when a voice stops me cold.

  “Tyler.”

  I spin around, stunned. There she is, dark hair twisted up, a long red dress highlighting the very large bump at the front of her stomach.

  “Lacy!” I blink in surprise at the sight of my sister. “I had no idea you were coming. Wait … what’s wrong?”

  A giant tear spills down over Lacy’s cheek. Her hands are pressed to her stomach.

  “Tyler, I … I think my water just broke.”

  Oh. Fuck.

  Twenty-Four

  I lean my head against the window of the taxi. Rori hasn't said anything, and for that I'm thankful. I know she saw me up there with Tyler — God, the entire room full of people saw me up there. And way too much of me, too.

  How could I have let this happen? Again? That's what keeps running through my head as the cab winds its way through Manhattan, across the 59th Street Bridge and towards Brooklyn. It's a long ride, and it's probably going to cost a fortune, but there was no way I could brave the subway, and even though Rori had offered to call Wes’s driver, I didn’t have the patience to wait, not when there were all these cabs lining the front entrance of the Plaza. I want to be home as soon as possible, buried under my blankets like an ostrich with its head in the sand.

  I try to concentrate on the city streets as they spill past. The lights seem to blur in the darkness, until I realize that it's tears blocking my vision. I brush my hand roughly against my cheek and sniffle.

  Rori nudges me, and when I look over, she's holding out a tissue. I take it silently and manage a wry smile, then blow my nose. I go back to looking out the window.

  My sister’s hand slips into mine. She gives it a squeeze, but she still doesn't say anything. I guess she knows there's nothing to say.

  But I surprise myself by turning to her. “You think I'm an idiot, don't you?”

  Rori's mouth gapes open. “What? Are you kidding? Honey, that's the furthest thought from my mind." She squeezes my hand again. "But ... do you want to tell me what happened?”

  I scoff. “What happened is ... I am an idiot.”

  “Hey, that's my sister you're talking about.” Rori tries to crack a joke, but I can't bring myself to even smile. God, I'm in a sorry state.

  “Come on,” Rori prods. “Do you want to tell me what really happened?”

  I shake my head, but words are already falling off my lips. “It's like, every time we're together, I turn into this ... crazy person. Honestly, Rori, I don't even recognize myself. I start doing all these crazy things…”

  “Like what?”

  “Like what you saw tonight, for starters. I can't even tell you how many times we've gotten caught going at it. I even let him get me off in a restaurant.”

  From the front seat, the cab driver coughs suddenly. I catch his eye in the rear view mirror, and my cheeks flame red. I turn my gaze back to Rori, but she looks just as shocked. Then her mouth twitches up into a smile. I bury my face in my hands.

  “Emma, come on.” Rori gently pulls my hands away. “I’m sure it's not that bad.”

  “Oh, it's pretty bad.” I tell her about the night I showed up drunk at his house, about the real way I broke my ankle, about every dumb thing I’ve done since Tyler Grant waltzed his way into my life.

  Her eyebrows get higher and higher with every story, until they've almost disappeared into her hairline. By the time I'm done, she's stifling her laughter.

  “It isn't funny!” I admonish. I try to swat her with my crutch, but I end up awkwardly banging it against my own calf. “Owwww.”

  “Oh, Em,” she laughs. She wipes away a tear. “I’m sorry, I swear I'm not laughing at you.”

  “Let me guess, you're laughing with me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Funny ... since I'm not laughing.”

  “Minor details.” She waves her hand casually, but then softens. “I’m sorry, Em, I'm really not laughing at you. But …” She trails off, biting her lip.

  “But what?”

  She sighs.

  “Out with it, Rori.”

&nbs
p; “It's just ... I don't think loosening up is the worst thing that could happen to you.”

  I fold my arms. “Thanks a lot.”

  “I don't mean it in a bad way, sweetie.”

  I huff out a breath, then go back to staring out the window.

  “Come on, Emma, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I get why you're feeling miserable and I do totally sympathize ... but I have to tell you one important thing.”

  I grudgingly look back over at her. “What's that?”

  “Your ass looked seriously great up there.”

  I try to keep a straight face, but soon Rori and I dissolve into giggles.

  When we get back to my apartment, Rori insists on coming upstairs with me. We burst through the front door, still feeling giddy with laughter and the evening's adrenalin.

  Lucy jumps up off the couch in surprise. She’s wearing sweats and a pink hoodie, and on the television, When Harry Met Sally is playing.

  “Hi! I wasn't expecting you guys back for hours.”

  I glance over at Rori. She's biting back a smile.

  “The evening ... didn't go exactly as planned,” I explain.

  That makes Rori snort with laughter, which sets me off on another laughing jag as well. Lucy is staring at us in total confusion. I wipe away a stray tear, trying to stop the peals of laughter coming out of me. It feels like the equivalent of laughing at a funeral, where you know it’s wrong and inappropriate but you can’t stop, and somehow thinking about how wrong it is only makes you laugh harder.

  Lucy, on the other hand, looks thoroughly confused. “Okay … care to explain?”

  “I'm sorry,” I tell her. “I'm not really in the mood to talk about it, but let's just say I … put on quite a show.” That makes Rori laugh again. “How come you’re not at Lou’s, anyway? I thought you were going over there tonight.”

  Lucy looks at the floor. “If it’s okay, I’d rather not talk about that, either.”

  There’s a moment of silence between the three of us, and then Rori claps her hands.