by Loren, Celia
“Ava told me she feels sorry for you,” he whispers under his breath. I refuse to look at him, but my hand starts twitching under the table. “I told her how you work at a gas station. She laughed.” He leans forward. “That’s a job for fucking immigrants. It’s you and the guy straight off the boat from fucking India.”
“Alright everybody, gather around for this part,” Mr. Laurits calls out.
Stools scrape the floor as we all stand up and form a semicircle around Mr. Laurits at the front of the classroom. I get a spot near the back, where I always stand because of my height, and out of the corner of my eye I see Derek position himself just behind me and to my left. I can feel his breath on my back.
“I think I’ll get my dad to buy that gas station,” he whispers. “It’ll be fun for me to come back home from college and see you still behind that counter. Oh man, I bet you have to clean up the bathrooms there, too. How’s it feel to know that’s all you’ll ever do with your life? Just clean up shit. That why your parents gave you up?”
I feel anger light me up like I’ve been set on fire. I spin around to face him and I’m just in time to see his fist meet my cheek. My head snaps back, but to my surprise, I don’t fall. And to Derek’s surprise, too, judging by the look on his face. He doesn’t know I’ve been hit before, by former foster dads, and they were way bigger than he is.
I’m vaguely aware of the guys around us stepping back. Before I can think, I cock my fist and slam it across Derek’s face, a solid jab to his nose. There’s a crack, and blood starts pouring down his chin. My left arm is up now and following up with a cross to his right eye. He falls backward and I jump on top of him, grabbing the front of his shirt. I raise my right arm again and bring it down on his right cheek two more times.
Around me, I hear yelling, and as I raise my fist to hit him again, I feel myself being yanked up and back. I struggle against whomever’s holding me, wanting to cause Derek some more pain.
“Enough, enough,” I hear yelled into my ear, and I jerk my head back angrily to see Mr. Laurits looking down at me intently.
“Scott, that’s enough,” he repeats, and this time I believe him. I nod, and he lets me go.
I look down at the floor to see Derek still lying there, holding a hand up to his bloody face. He looks up at me, fear in his eyes.
The anger drains out of me as one thought crystallizes in my head: I’m in trouble.
A couple of hours later I sit with a bag of ice on my swollen right hand. My face hurts a little from where Derek hit me, but my hand is much worse. It’s after school, and Mr. Laurits told me to wait here in the shop while he and the principal meet to discuss my fate.
I don’t know what came over me. I mean, I’m glad I hit him back, but it was the feeling I had when I was doing it that surprised me. Like I had no control over myself. Plus, I didn’t know I was that, well, good, at hitting someone. All my weightlifting hasn’t shown itself in much increased body mass, but I guess I am a lot stronger than I used to be.
If the principal and Mr. Laurits tell my case worker about what happened today, I could be pulled from the Ralstons house and put into a group home. Hell, that’s actually a good scenario. The real danger is going to juvie. They’d classify me as violent and I’d have to spend the next couple years escaping beatings or worse.
Fuck. I can’t believe I lost it. But that crack about my parents…
“What happened to you?” a gravelly voice asks from the door. I glance up to see Flint standing in the doorway. He looks…a little amused, actually. “Though maybe I should be asking, what happened to the other guy?”
“The other guy got punched in the face a few times,” I admit with a shrug.
“He deserve it?” Flint asks.
“Hell, yes,” I reply with conviction.
“I’m probably not supposed to be saying this to someone your age, but some guys just need to get hit in the face,” Flint says with a little smile.
“Don’t encourage him,” I hear Mr. Laurits say from behind him. He steps around him and they both walk into the room. Mr. Laurits leans on one of the work tables and sighs. I look at him, holding my breath. He takes an interminable pause.
“Well, he’s not going to report it, that’s the good news,” he begins. Relief washes over me. “Other students confirmed that he hit you first.”
“So then what’s the problem?” Flint asks. He seems like he’s gotten into more than his share of fights.
“The problem is that Scott here kept hitting after the bell, as it were. I had to pull him off the other kid. Derek has a broken nose, and Scott looks like someone hit his cheek with a flyswatter.”
Flint looks over at me, a more appraising look in his eye now.
“You ever take any boxing lessons or anything?” he asks.
“No, just tried to do it like I’ve seen on TV,” I reply.
“A natural,” Flint says, as though to himself. Mr. Laurits clears his throat.
“So the bad news,” Mr. Laurits continues, “is that now you have to take whatever Derek and his friends and whoever else wants to say to you without batting an eye. Because you’re on the razor’s edge. One false move, and charges will be pressed against you. Derek’s father has pull on the school board, and the principal and I really had to go out on a limb to talk him down.”
Derek and his rich father. He has no idea what it’s like. Rage begins to build inside me again.
“If he says it again, I’ll hit him again,” I spit out.
“What?” Mr. Laurits says without flinching.
“If he says anything about my parents again…assholes like that…he just gets to coast through life, everything handed to him…I work at a fucking gas station making minimum wage, and that’s probably where I’ll be working for the rest of my fucking life!” I burst out, slamming my good hand down onto the work table with a bang.
“College?” Mr. Laurits asks.
“I don’t have the grades, even if my goddamn foster parents gave enough of a shit to give me any money for it. They don’t even talk to me, much less feed me!” I’m on my feet now, the words pouring out of me. “What the fuck is fair about a world like this? I gotta have pieces of shit like Derek stepping on my back for the rest of my life? FUCK!”
I kick a stool, sending it flying into the wall. I bury my hands in my hair, my loud breathing the only sound in the room. I become aware of the silence, and brace myself for the punishment that I’m sure is about to come my way, but I don’t hear anything. I turn slowly to face Mr. Laurits and Flint.
To my surprise, they’re both looking at me calmly.
“You about done?” Flint asks.
I take a few breaths and nod, eyes on the ground.
“Good,” he murmurs.
He and Mr. Laurits look at each other, and Mr. Laurits nods almost imperceptibly at him. Flint leans forward.
“There are other options for men like you. I take that back. You’re not a man yet. You need to learn about control…hard work. Discipline.”
I look up at him, frowning. Where’s this going? Another lecture? Because I’ve had enough of those from my caseworker.
“This town hasn’t changed a lot from when Bill and I grew up here,” he nods at Mr. Laurits. I never knew my teacher’s first name. “There were shitheads like Derek then, too. But we decided to change the hand that was dealt to us. Joined the army together, and when we got back here, we joined up in another way.”
He looks at Mr. Laurits, who stands up and turns around, and raises the back of his shirt. To my surprise, his back is tattooed with a replica of the design on Flint’s leather vest, a black devil with a skeleton’s head.
“Bill and I are both members of a motorcycle club called Satan’s Sons. I’m the vice president, Bill’s treasurer. It’s more than a club, it’s a family, a brotherhood. We function…in a different way than the rest of society.”
Mr. Laurits sits down.
“Scott, understand that what we’re telling
you right now does not leave this room. What I do outside of my job here has nothing to do with my ability to teach shop, but some people here wouldn’t see it that way.”
“We’re having a barbecue on Saturday afternoon… why don’t you stop by?” Flint asks with a glint in his eye.
“Yeah, OK,” I answer. What am I getting myself into?
Chapter Ten
Violet
Present Day
I glance over the dining room table. It’s set for five people, but I’m the only one here so far. Cherish and Hollywood are supposed to be arriving in a few minutes, and there’s still no sign of Drifter or Marcus.
I texted him to remind him about it yesterday. I haven’t seen him much lately. He and Marcus have been going out after he gets out of work for the last several nights, ever since we had that argument about Ace.
Though it didn’t really seem to be an argument about Ace. Somehow it seemed to be an argument about me, and about me being crazy, and not at all about the things that I wanted to have us talk about. I wish I were better at arguing. I just get emotional too quickly and then I can’t think straight about what I want to say.
A knot forms in the back of my throat. I’ve been really anxious since that night, and Drifter and I haven’t talked about it again. He just avoids me and goes out drinking with Marcus. Not that he tells me that’s what he’s doing, but it’s pretty obvious from the smell of alcohol when he pours himself into bed in the wee hours. Then I get up early for work and so the whole day passes without us seeing each other.
Except for tonight, when we had plans to see each other. Very definite plans to have Cherish and Hollywood over so they could see the renovations and Cherish and I could talk about the charity fair. I had work early today, too, but I went out and got a chicken to roast and came home and made everything and now he and his brother aren’t here. I stifle a yawn. My body feels so run down, like I can never catch up on sleep.
The dogs start barking and I know Cherish and Hollywood must be coming up to the front door. I sigh and take a deep breath. Maybe Drifter and Marcus will be here soon. Or if I’m really lucky, just Drifter.
I shush Scout and Kalb as I walk to the front door, and open it just as Hollywood raises his hand to knock.
“Hey, Violet,” Hollywood murmurs with a smile. “Guess we can’t surprise you.”
“No, not with these two,” I reply, gesturing to the dogs, who are sniffing around my legs at our guests. “Come on in.”
“Shit, Drifter did all this himself?” Hollywood asks, admiring the new molding in the dining room. “Where is he?” he adds, looking around.
“Um, he and Marcus should be back soon,” I reply evasively. “You guys want beers?” I head to the kitchen to cover the blush spreading across my face. Having your boyfriend not show up to a dinner at his own fucking house is beyond humiliating. And though I rarely think of the fact that Cherish and Drifter slept together, the fact that she’s here now with a guy who did show up makes it just a little worse.
I show them the improvements that Drifter made to the layout of the house, and then we all sit in the living room sipping our beers. They’re both acting normal, but I can see them looking toward the door and wondering where Drifter is.
Finally I decide we’ve waited long enough.
“You know, since Drifter and Marcus are held up, why don’t we just start eating?” I suggest.
We head into the dining room and settle around the table, which feels particularly empty with the two places set and unoccupied.
“Wow, this is amazing, Violet,” Cherish says after she’s tasted the chicken. “Drifter’s loss, really.” Hollywood nods enthusiastically, and I know how sweet they’re both being, but their pity just makes me want to crawl under the table and hide.
Cherish valiantly forges ahead, talking about the fair and asking me about my work at the hospital. I try to keep my disappointment and embarrassment to myself, but I can tell it’s leaking through. Before I can offer them dessert, Cherish finally offers a sort-of solution.
“You know, honey,” she says, turning to Hollywood. “Violet and I need to talk so much about the food vendors for the fair that I’ll think you’ll just get bored. Why don’t you head home, and I’ll text you when we’re done.”
“If you’re sure…” Hollywood says, clearly wanting a way out of this awkward mess.
“It’s a good idea,” I chime in gratefully.
We quickly say our goodbyes and Hollywood heads out. Cherish and I sit back down at the table silently.
“You want to tell me about it?” she asks quietly. My lower lip starts to tremble.
“It’s been hard, having Marcus here,” I admit. A tear slides down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away. “Truth is, I’m not sure where Drifter is. Haven’t known for the last few nights.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” Cherish murmurs, leaning forward to rub my arm.
“We had a big fight a few days ago, haven’t talked since. Do you…do you remember, on the night the Devil’s Army attacked, do you remember what happened to that guy Ace? The one who was chasing you?”
She gets a faraway look in her eye. I’m almost sorry I brought it up. I’m sure she doesn’t like to think about it any more than I do.
“Last time I saw him, we’d handcuffed him to my old bed post, then…I don’t know. It was so crazy after that, people were hurt…Why?”
“It’s gonna sound crazy, but I thought I saw him the other night. Ugh, sorry, I’ve been so emotional lately,” I say, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Oh, shit, forgot I was wearing mascara,” I add, as I see black streaks of makeup on my hands.
“S’okay. Here,” she says, dipping her napkin into her glass of water and handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I say, swiping it under my eyes. “Better?” She nods.
“Anything I can do?” she asks.
“Just…could you keep this just between us? I don’t want it getting around, it’s so…” I trail off.
“The one thing I remember very clearly from that night is the fact that before we handcuffed Ace to the bed, you saved me from him. Anything you ever need from me, it’s yours. And I know a lot of people in the club feel that way. Don’t feel like you have to isolate yourself.”
“Thanks…that means a lot right now,” I whisper, tearing up again. “Maybe it’s stupid, but I worry about what people think…I mean, we got together so quickly, I know that…”
“Look, I more than anyone know that once Drifter saw you, he didn’t want anyone else,” she looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh god, I didn’t mean that…” I say, but she giggles.
“It’s OK, with Hollywood is where I belong,” she says with a smile.
“You guys seem really happy together.”
“We are. So, do you wanna talk about the fair? Because I totally just said that to get Hollywood out of here, but we can talk about it if you want,” she says.
“No, let’s do it. It’ll be good to get my mind off things.”
For the next forty minutes or so we go over the list of things we still have to do for the fair, which is already next weekend. When we feel like we’ve got a handle on things, she texts Hollywood, and ten minutes later he’s pulling up on his bike. With a promise to check up on me tomorrow, we hug goodbye.
As I shut the door behind her, I’m struck by how empty the house feels now. I’m exhausted, but I clean up the table and load the dishwasher. I feed the dogs and let them outside while I package all the leftover food. After I let Kalb and Scout back in and they curl up on their doggie beds in the living room, I head into the bedroom.
I quickly strip off my clothes and pull on my nightgown. I brush my teeth but don’t bother to wash my face before I drop into bed. I expect to fall asleep quickly but the space in the bed nags at me. I’ve never been good at falling asleep without Drifter in bed with me even if I do know where he is.
I toss and turn for a while before drifting off t
o sleep, only to wake up with a start in the middle of the night. I don’t know what woke me. I glance to the other side of the bed: empty. I lie quietly and listen for any sounds in the house. Nothing. I kick the covers off me. I feel sweaty and clammy and worried. And I don’t want to lie in bed by myself anymore.
I hop out of bed and walk into the bathroom, flipping on just the light over the sink so it’s not too bright. I turn on the water in the shower and strip off my nightgown, leaving it in a pile next to the toilet. I slide the glass door open and then shut it behind me as I step under the stream, feeling the hot water run over my head, soaking into my hair. The hot water fogs up the glass a little and I admire the light green tile that lines the shower walls. The home’s previous owner’s put them in; we haven’t done anything to this room.
Just as I close my eyes, I hear noises coming from the rest of the house. I pause, listening for the sounds of Drifter and Marcus. With the bedroom door open, I think I can hear them rummaging around in the kitchen, probably working through the leftovers from the dinner they missed. I frown and reach for the shampoo. Drifter knows he missed the dinner. No point in confronting him about it.
I lather the shampoo in my hair, massaging my scalp with my fingers. I hear the bedroom door shut and can just see Drifter walk across the bathroom doorway, stumbling a little, pulling off his shirt. I step back into the water and begin to rinse the suds out of my hair. I watch him reappear in the doorway, walking groggily to the toilet, which he flips open with his bare foot and pees into. I close my eyes. I’m not sure if he’s even aware I’m here. I hope he doesn’t flush and scald me.
I run my hands through my wet hair, waiting for the sounds of him stumbling back into the bedroom to pass out. When they don’t come, I open my eyes back up to find him staring at me, at my naked body through the glass of the shower door. A bolt of desire hits me as I see the hunger in his gaze. I allow myself to look down over his body through half-lidded eyes. He stands leaning on one leg, his strong arms dangling by his sides, his Corps tattoo standing out on his chest. His jeans are unbuttoned and hanging off his hips, his dark blue boxers bunched up slightly above them.