Black Box

by Cassia Leo

  her. And he didn’t have that psychopathic glare.’

  ‘Yeah, but this wasn’t Hughes’s best film,’ I say, pausing the movie. ‘The Breakfast Club was his best, and Molly Ringwald ends up with the right guy in that film, right?’

  She turns to me with an incredulous look on her face. ‘They all go their separate ways at the end of The Breakfast Club. She doesn’t end up with anybody.’

  ‘Exactly. Bender was an asshole and the other guys were pussies. She ended up with the right guy.’

  She shakes her head as she sets her slice of pizza down on her plate on the coffee table. ‘Most guys think Bender is the cool guy in the movie.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I have a sister. And I wouldn’t want her dating a douche like him.’

  ‘How old is your sister?’

  ‘She’s four years older than me. Oh, shit. That reminds me. Harlow’s birthday is next month. She’ll be twenty-six.’

  She smiles as she leans back on the sofa and puts her feet up on the edge of the coffee table. ‘You’re protective of your older sister?’

  I shrug. ‘Well, she’s smart as hell, but she used to have terrible taste in guys.’

  ‘Yeah, Meaghan has the worst taste in guys. She once dated a guy who had escaped from juvenile detention.’ I laugh and she holds up her hand. ‘Wait. That’s not the worst part. His eyebrow was partially shaved.’

  ‘Now you’re just making shit up.’

  ‘I swear, every word of that is true,’ she replies. ‘So how about now? Does your sister still have bad taste in guys?’

  ‘No. She got married to a total geek last year and they’re expecting their first baby soon. I can’t wait to be an uncle.’

  She removes her feet from the table and sits up suddenly. ‘I need a cigarette.’

  ‘Is that your first cigarette today?’ I reply, setting down my pizza.

  ‘Fifth.’

  ‘Are you smoking in secret?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to.’

  ‘Why? I have no problem with you smoking.’

  A puff of laughter accompanies her eye-rolling. ‘Yeah, I highly doubt the girls you’ve dated at Harvard smoke cigarettes.’

  ‘What girls? I mean, I won’t lie. I’ve slept with a lot of girls, but I’ve only dated three girls in the last four years and none of them went to Harvard.’

  She’s silent as she contemplates this. ‘I want to know about the girls you’ve dated.’

  ‘Why? I already told you that no one will ever compare to you.’

  She hangs her head as she’s overcome with a bashful smile. ‘When you say stuff like that, I feel like I’m having a fucking out-of-body experience; like I’m so high I can’t tell if this is real life.’

  I place my finger under her chin and gently tilt her face up. ‘This is real life.’

  We look into each other’s eyes and everything else seems to blur. Her gaze falls to my lips and I take that as a signal that now is the time; the moment I’ve been dreaming about for far too long.

  My hands reach up to cradle her face and she grasps my wrists as I lay a soft kiss on her forehead. I trace my lips down her temple until I reach her ear. ‘Can I kiss you?’ She nods and I pull my head back to look at her. She’s trying not to smile. ‘You can smile,’ I say, planting another kiss on the corner of her mouth. ‘I love your smile.’

  ‘My smile is crooked because of the scar.’

  I tilt her head up a bit more so I can kiss the scar that runs from the bottom of her lip to the point of her chin. She relaxes her grip on my wrists as I kiss the other corner of her mouth. Finally, I turn my head so our noses are almost touching; my lips hovering over hers as I wait for the moment where I can feel her need to be kissed. Then I see it; her chest heaving, nostrils slightly flared, eyebrows knitted together in anticipation.

  I kiss her softly; a tender, closed-mouth test of her boundaries. Her lips taste like pizza and I can’t help but smile.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’ she whispers.

  I press my lips to hers again, ignoring the distraction, and she tightens her fingers around my wrists again. Brushing my lips lightly over hers, her lips part just enough for me to know she wants more. I take her top lip into my mouth and she whimpers as I gently suck on it.

  ‘I love you,’ I whisper against her lips so she can both hear and feel the words.

  She’s breathing heavily, but I wait a moment before I finally slip my tongue into her mouth. Tilting my head, our mouths locked, we just fit; the way I always imagined we would. She parts her lips a little wider, beckoning me further into the depths of her as she removes my hands from her face and places them on her waist. She grabs my face and her kiss becomes hungrier as she sits up on her knees.

  She’s taller than me in this position and I pull my head back so she can look down at me. Her green eyes are bright with passion, but there are tears glistening in the corners.

  ‘Let’s watch the movie so you can get some rest,’ I whisper and she sinks down a little until she’s sitting on her feet. I gently place my hand over her heart. ‘Does your chest still hurt?’

  ‘Only on the inside.’

  ‘Come here,’ I say, leaning back and beckoning her to lay her head on my chest.

  I turn the movie back on and we watch in silence for a few minutes before she chuckles. ‘I can hear your heartbeat. It’s strong, like a drum.’

  I sweep her hair behind her ear so it’s not in her face and kiss the top of her head. By the time the movie is over, I can tell she’s fallen asleep by the way her breathing has slowed. It’s only 7:30 p.m., but something tells me she didn’t sleep much last night. I consider trying to slip out from underneath her, but I really don’t want to risk waking her. So I don’t move. And somewhere in the middle of the late show, I fall asleep.

  I wake with the right side of my head aching and I quickly realize the reason. I must have fallen asleep on Crush’s ridiculously hard chest. I feel almost as if I’m hungover or like I overslept. What time is it?

  I peel my cheek away from his warm chest and he draws in a sharp, startled breath. ‘What time is it?’ he asks groggily.

  ‘I don’t know.’ My phone is dead, I almost remind him, but I’d rather not bring up that subject again.

  ‘It’s light outside,’ he says as we both sit up. He leans forward to slip his phone out of his back pocket and check the time. ‘Eight a.m. You slept more than twelve hours.’

  ‘I guess I was tired.’ I press my fingertips against the side of my head and roll them around to massage the aching.

  ‘You have a headache?’

  ‘I’m fine. I just need a shower.’

  ‘Another one?’ I don’t know how to respond to this, so I don’t respond at all, but he quickly notices my unease. ‘If I ever say something stupid like that again, feel free to punch me. Right in the face, or the ear, or anywhere.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ll be right back.’ As soon as I stand, he stands with me. ‘I’m not going to hurt myself. I’m just going to take a shower.’ He nods, though I can see the worry in the curve of his brow. ‘You should go take a shower, too. You smell like pizza.’

  ‘That’s because you were drooling on me all night with your pizza breath. Did you sleep okay?’

  ‘I don’t remember the last time I slept that okay.’ He smiles as he looks at me with that look; the look that makes me question everything I know to be true about life. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  In the shower¸ I have to keep my back to the water and the temperature set to barely warm since my chest is still pretty red and raw. I try not to remember the thoughts that brought on this injury, but it’s hard with the water prickling every nerve in my skin.

  I’ve had guys ask me what I’m into, not willing to accept my answer that I’m not into anything. One guy, who shared a computer class with me, asked me if I was into rape fantasies. I told him that I don’t have rape fantasies; I have rape nightmares. Then I locked myself in the school bathroom and called my
mom to pick me up.

  I let the conditioner soak into my hair for a while so I don’t have to ask Crush to brush my hair again, then I rinse off and grab a towel. I stand on the rug in the center of the bathroom floor as I wrap the towel around my waist, staring into the mirror. The water from my hair drips down my body and, for a split second, I think I might glimpse what Crush sees when he looks at me.

  I chuckle at this thought. He’s seen me half-naked once and fully naked another time. And yet I don’t feel horrifically ashamed of this; only slightly ashamed. Sort of the way I felt when we took a family trip to the water park when I was twelve. I’ve always been thin and awkward. I was five-foot-seven by the time I was twelve. Now I’m five-eleven without heels. Not that I wear heels anymore, unless I’m wearing boots. I hate dressing up. Some would say my black hair and tattoos are a way of attracting attention, but they’re not. They’re a way of warding off the wrong kind of attention.

  *****

  When I come out of the bedroom, fully clothed and made up, Crush is waiting near the door to the hotel room with his coat on and a smile dressing his gorgeous face.

  ‘You going somewhere?’ I ask, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. ‘I thought Wally’s doesn’t open till six.’

  ‘They don’t, but we have to eat breakfast and I’m tired of room service.’

  I sigh as I realize he wants me to go somewhere to have breakfast. ‘I really don’t want to go out in the daytime again.’

  He steps away from the door and into the kitchen so he can look at me across the bar. ‘Can I ask what you think will happen after they find your note?’

  ‘Well, to be honest, they’ve probably already filed a missing persons report. I’m sure they’ve talked to Rina to see what she knows. Rina has heard me talking to my advisor at Santa Monica College. I made sure she watched as I booked the flight and hotel room. She believed I was going there for a job interview. I guess it all depends on whether she’s smart enough to check the windowsill. I’ve left notes for her that she didn’t check for weeks. Sometimes, she finds them hours later.’

  I try not to think about the emotional repercussions of the note. Every suicide note I’ve ever written has always been an apology to my parents and Meaghan. I considered not leaving a note this time, but I didn’t want them to launch a decades-long investigation into my disappearance. Especially when they’d know, in their hearts, what had really happened.

  Crush looks like he’s getting frustrated with me. ‘So what do you think will happen if you try to catch a flight after a missing persons report has been filed?’

  ‘The rescheduling of the flight was not a factor in my plans.’

  He rests his elbows on the kitchen counter and leans forward. ‘Can you please just admit that your plans are shot to hell? And call your friend to get rid of that note?’

  ‘You don’t understand. I should just leave,’ I say, sliding off the stool.

  ‘Don’t go,’ he insists, following me to my bedroom. ‘I’m just trying to figure out how this is going to work for you. You obviously can’t get on an airplane if they’ve filed a report.’

  ‘Maybe they already found the note and the search is off.’

  He stops at the threshold after I say this, but I don’t bother looking back to see his reaction. Then the gravity of the situation hits me and I fall to my knees next to my suitcase in the corner. All my meticulous planning has been wiped away like snow from a windshield.

  ‘Have you ever been in a mental hospital?’ I ask, my gaze focused on the emblem on my suitcase. ‘As a patient?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Like I said. You don’t understand.’

  ‘You’re right. I don’t understand. We’ll stay here. I’ll go order some breakfast.’

  I lean forward, resting my forehead on the top of my suitcase, as I think of that bottle of pills in my purse. It used to be tucked safely next to my copy of Black Box, but it’s not my book anymore. It belongs to Crush.

  That’s when I begin writing a new suicide note in my head.

  *****

  Crush can sense something is wrong. I haven’t cried once today while we hung out waiting for six p.m. to arrive. Of course, I’ve carefully avoided all potentially emotional subjects. When he asked me about Rina, I told him that she’s the only person crazy enough to still be friends with me, but she keeps herself at a distance. She likes to go out and have fun and I don’t. She sticks with me, but only when she doesn’t have other plans. When he asks me about my mother and father, I tell him they love me so much that, after my second suicide attempt, they got a court order saying they have power of attorney over my health care.

  ‘I don’t think that’s something to joke about,’ he responds from his side of the sofa.

  ‘Neither do I. Believe me, I take it very seriously.’

  He hangs his head because he knows something has shifted. I’m not the same person who fell asleep on his chest last night or the girl he rescued three years ago. I’m the person he met two days ago.

  ‘What would you do if your sister told you she wanted to die?’

  ‘This is not the first time someone has asked me that question,’ I reply immediately.

  ‘What would you do?’

  I shrug and turn away from him so I don’t have to see that look on his face.

  ‘Please answer the question.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’d . . . I’d . . .’

  ‘You can’t answer that truthfully, can you? You’ve been so honest with me the past two days and now you want to start lying to me? After everything I’ve shared with you?’

  I turn to look him in the eye and address his accusation. ‘Yes, after everything you’ve shared with me, I still want to die.’

  ‘That’s not what I said. And, fuck, I still want to die sometimes. I understand that. I don’t understand the lack of honesty. I’ve already told you that I’m not going to make you do anything. I’m not going to make you go to breakfast with me or call your parents or check yourself into a mental hospital. Your body and your mind are yours. Do you understand that? Do you believe me when I say that?’

  ‘But they’re not mine. They haven’t been mine since the day I started taking meds when I was fourteen. And people just continue to remind me of this. My body and my mind, anyone’s body and mind, belongs to whoever feels like owning it, whether it’s a bunch of fucking perverted assholes or a board of assholes in white coats. I will never have full control over my body or my mind as long as my parents have the power to commit me and the state has the power to drug me. Do you understand now?’

  The muscle in his jaw twitches as he nods. ‘Yeah, I understand.’

  I look down as I feel a surge of emotion rising inside me. ‘So that’s why I can’t stay, no matter how I feel about you or Meaghan, because neither one of you can give me back my life.’

  He reaches forward and grabs my hand off my knee. ‘How do you feel about me?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘I won’t make you talk about it, but . . . can you please consider telling me before . . . you know?’

  Looking up at him, I’m taken by the hopeful expression in his eyes. ‘I hate you,’ I begin. ‘I hate the way your lip curls up when you’re confused. It’s sickeningly adorable. I hate the way your arms are so fucking strong. It kind of scares me.’ He smiles and I take a deep breath, trying to keep from crying, but it’s so hard. ‘I hate that your smile makes me want to cry and I don’t know why. I hate that you know how to look so together on the outside when you’re screaming inside. I hate that you always know the right thing to say. I hate the way that I already know what you’re thinking just by the way you’re looking at me.’ He wipes the tears from my jaw and I close my eyes. ‘I hate that you saved me. But, most of all, I hate that you love me because now I love you and I don’t know how to make it stop.’

  He pulls me into his arms and I try not to think of the new suicide note. Instead, I think of the song he’s g
oing to sing for me tonight. It won’t change the fact that if I go home, I’ll be committed. But maybe Crush will work a marriage proposal into tonight’s performance. Then Crush and I can get married and we can have that stupid power of attorney nullified.

  Nope, I don’t have rape fantasies. I have courtroom fantasies.

  I hold onto her tightly, stroking her hair to calm her. I know it must have taken great courage for her to say what she just said to me. And I hope I’m not being foolish in thinking that I can fix this.

  I know I can’t fix Mikki, but I think I can get her to change her mind about killing herself. I just have to figure out a way to prevent her parents from committing her. The thought of going behind Mikki’s back to contact her family makes me sick. I need her to contact someone who can convince her parents that she’s safe, as long as she’s with me.

  ‘I love that you love me,’ I whisper in her ear.

  ‘I hate you, too. Don’t forget that part,’ she replies with a loud sniff.

  ‘I love that you hate me, too. Both of those emotions require a lot of energy. Don’t make me go all Harvard on you and tell you the scientific difference between loving and hating someone.’

  She laughs and her breath tickles my neck. ‘Please do tell.’

  ‘Basically, love and hate activate similar circuits in the brain, but hate also activates the circuits used for rational thought. Which means, when you hate my adorable lips, you’re thinking quite clearly, unlike when you think of how I love you and you turn into a pile of irrational mush. In other words, you love me with all your circuits.’

  She tilts her head back to look at me. ‘I love you with all my circuits . . . I like that.’

  I plant a soft kiss on her chin and she smiles. ‘So do I.’

  *****

  I don’t bother with a cab this time. I’ve hired a car to take us to get some dinner at Toro, a tapas restaurant in South Boston, then it will take us straight to the club and back to the hotel. I don’t want Mikki to be recognized any more than she does. I want us to spend this last night together without any interruptions. If all goes according to plan, I’m hoping that after I perform for her she’ll be willing to call someone to talk to her parents. I don’t want to think of what will happen if I’m wrong.

  We arrive at Toro at 6:30 p.m. and the place is pretty packed considering it was snowing just a few hours ago. You’d think most people would want to stay inside and snuggle up under the covers with a book or a loved one. But this place is buzzing. It probably has to do with the neighborhood. With the revitalization of South Boston, this neighborhood is slowly becoming hipster central. Recently, it’s become a breeding ground for trendy eateries and hangouts. I brought Mikki to Toro because I doubt that most of the people here watch local news. They’re probably too busy listening to NPR and browsing Pinterest.

  ‘For two?’ the hostess asks with a phony smile.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply and she leads us to a long community dining table in the center of the restaurant adjacent to the bar.

  We scoot in about six feet from the end of the table until we’re sitting across from each other and next to two strangers; an older couple. Mikki looks a bit uncomfortable and, though I don’t want her to get wasted, I’m thinking a couple of drinks might take the edge off.

  ‘You want something to drink?’ I ask and she raises her eyebrows. ‘I know you said you’re a beer girl. They’ve got some great IPAs and imports here. But they also have some great cocktails.’

  ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having,’ she replies, picking up her menu to examine the offerings. ‘See if we’re on the same circuit.’ She’s quiet for a moment then she gasps. ‘Oh my God, there’s bone marrow on this menu.’

  The woman sitting on her right throws her an annoyed sideways glance, so I glare at her, unimpressed with her snootiness. ‘It’s pretty far from Brockton and the airport. And I know you’re not a big meat eater and this place serves mostly meat dishes.’

  Mikki looks up from her menu, confused by this information, then it finally dawns on her that I brought her here because no one would look for her here. ‘Oh . . . How sweet.’

  The woman must think we’re even crazier now, but I really don’t give a shit. I reach across the table, grab Mikki’s hand and bring it to my lips, laying a tender kiss on the W tattooed on her middle finger.

  ‘I’ll always look out for you,’ I say and she rolls her eyes.

  ‘So chivalrous.’

  ‘They have some good meat-free dishes. Do you want me to order something for you?’

  ‘Please do. We all know I’m not capable of making sound decisions on my own.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’