Dissolve

by Hunter, L. V.

  “Alright,” He laughs, though something about it sounds brittle. “That’s it, then. You stay safe, you hear me? And bring your umbrella wherever you go. I’d hate to hear you died of pneumonia.”

  This is the part where I’m supposed to walk away, gracefully and tactfully. It’s supposed to end here, before he can slot me into the ‘just another of his many girls’ stable. But I can’t help the words that fall from my mouth, half out of tipsiness, half out of raging curiosity.

  “Why do you care?” I ask. Kai doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me. The music around us seems to fade, the people suddenly seem so far-away and inconsequential. All that exists in that moment are his stunning eyes, pulling me in, trying to tell me something his words won’t.

  But then he leans in, and his mouth spills his secrets all over mine.

  His lips are velvet, expertly caressing mine. His body heat and smell are suddenly everywhere - pepper and leather and aftershave - and I’m boiling from the inside out. He’s so tall, everywhere, surrounding me. For a moment, I almost feel safe. For a moment I feel like I’m the only one in the world. My body aches - my chest, my heart, between my thighs. I want more. I know this kiss means nothing, that I mean nothing to him in the sea of girls he has, that he’s just playing with me like a toy, but god I want more of his mouth, his skin, his touch. My arms twitch, begging to circle around his neck, to bring him closer. My body begs for him in a way I didn’t even know it was capable of. I hate the idea of sex. But my body definitely does not hate the idea of him.

  It’s my first kiss, and my last kiss.

  This is why they all fall for him - his kiss. He traps them with the lightest, molten-hot kiss, and they melt. I can’t melt. I am stone, and steel.

  I can’t let anyone in. I can’t let anyone hurt me again.

  This is what he does to every girl. It means nothing. He’s treating me like a disposable doll.

  I pull away, and my hand rears back before I can control it.

  The sound of flesh-on-flesh pierces through the party noise like a knife. The crowd around us goes quiet, then the crowd around them. It moves like a ripple, everyone suddenly staring at us in hushed whispers. But I can only stare at Kai, his face red with my handprint and his eyes shocked. My own are blurry with tears.

  “Fuck you,” I whisper. “Fuck you, Kai Jackson.”

  I shoulder my way through the crowd as fast as I can. People part for me, but not because someone’s leading me - because I’m furious. I wipe at my eyes with my arm, trying to get rid of the tears before anyone can see them, but it’s too late. I shove out of the front doors, Trist faintly calling after me as she follows me outside and to the car.

  FOUR

  It’s impossible for me to sleep that night. And the next night. As far as I know, Kai’s cursed me with insomnia. Or blessed me. At least I don’t have the nightmares when I’m not asleep. I’d say I deserve it, but he deserved that slap more.

  Or so Trist thinks.

  “He’s so full of himself,” She scoffs. “How dare he just kiss you whenever he feels like it. He didn’t even consider what you wanted.”

  “I told him I wanted him to leave me alone.”

  “See? Exactly. He ignored you and did whatever he wanted. I knew he was a player, but I had no idea he was such an ass.”

  I stir my coffee and frown. It’s easy to convince yourself hitting someone seems like a good idea at the time, but after three days, the adrenaline of it has worn off, and I’m left with crippling doubt. I’d never hit anyone in my life - was I right to do it? Trist assures me I was, but I’m not so sure. Obviously, if a guy invaded my space, I’d have no problem fighting back. I’d learned the hard way I’d have to fight back. I didn’t lash out at Mr. Dowell because I was young, terrified, and convinced he’d hurt me if I fought back. But Kai is not Mr. Dowell. Kai kissed me, and I didn’t hate it at all. I didn’t even know I burned to kiss him until that moment. I liked it, and I still lashed out. I don’t know what part of me is responsible for that - the part young and scared, or the part older and scared of the spark I felt between me and Kai’s lips.

  To get my mind off things, Trist insists we go to a movie after she’s done with work. She hugs me tight, and tells me to text her if I need anything. I watch her go. She’s so sweet, but I don’t even know what I need right now. Peace and quiet is a start. And maybe a pastry.

  I take a shower and head down to the local coffee shop. It feels weird to be out and about, probably not helped by the fact I’m sleep deprived. I’m not paying attention at all when I bump into the girl in front of me. Her iced tea spills all over my shirt, and she swears.

  “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”

  “No, ugh, this was my fault.” I look up to see flame-red hair, left long and shining, and a flawless porcelain complexion. Hayley - the girl who was with Kai that night at the club.

  “Don’t be silly,” She smiles. “Here, let me at least get you a spare shirt. I have one in my trunk. I’ll be right back.”

  I wince awkwardly as people stare at my brown-stained shirt. At least it wasn’t a good shirt. Hayley comes back, shoving a wadded white t-shirt that says MONTCREST SWIMMING TEAM on the front.

  “I think the bathroom’s over there,” She points. I nod and go change. I emerge with my half-wet shirt balled in my fist and walk over to Hayley, who’s sipping a new tea.

  “I got this for you,” She motions to a cinnamon bun on the table. “As an apology.”

  “You’ve already done so much. Thanks.”

  “No problem. I’ve had my share of shitty days - didn’t want to make yours one.”

  “I’ll wash this shirt,” I say, picking at the bun. “And give it back to you.”

  “Nah. Keep it. It looks good on you. Plus they handed out, like, five to everyone because they made a printing error. Gotta love incompetent team captains.”

  She laughs, and I smile. Hayley’s really nice. Genuinely. I’d been expecting a huge bitch, but that goes to show how shallow I was for judging her on her gorgeous appearance alone. There’s a quiet, and then she sticks out her hand.

  “I’m Hayley.”

  “Evelyn,” I shake her hand.

  “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” She cocks her head. “You look familiar.”

  “I, um. I was there at Club Strike, on Thursday night.”

  “Oh!” She claps her hands. “That’s where I saw you! Kai wouldn’t stop glaring at you, so I told him to knock it off. God, I dodged a bullet with him. A sexy bullet. But it was still a bullet.”

  I furrow my brow, and she smiles and waves her hand.

  “It was just a fling. You know him, right? Kai Jackson. The guy with the motorcycle and amazing eyes. God his eyes alone were enough for me to start flirting.” Her laugh gets louder. “I thought he was a different guy, and then I slept with him, and, well. He’s definitely something. But so closed off, you know?”

  I focus extremely hard on my cinnamon roll. She sighs.

  “I’d do it all over again, if I could. He was amazing, except for the part where I wasn’t what he was looking for. I could tell. I could just see it in the way he looked at me. He was searching for someone, and it wasn’t me.”

  She smiles up at me. “Sorry about that. I get lost in thought a lot, and I’m in a sort-of-but-not-really-post-breakup-phase.”

  “It’s alright,” I say. “I wish there was some way I could help. I’m dealing with guy problems too, sort of.”

  “Oooh, really?” Her eyes twinkle. “Spill, girl.”

  “I…is it okay if I don’t use names?”

  “Of course!”

  I bite my lip. “There’s this guy who kissed me at a party. But I know he sleeps around. A lot. I don’t think I can trust him, or that kiss. I don’t want to be just another one in the line.”

  She quirks a brow. “Does he go to this school?”

  “No,” I say hastily.

  “Do you like him?”

  Maybe it’s the s
leep deprivation, or her kindness, or her eager face, but for some reason my words come fast and and loose.

  “I haven’t liked anyone since a really bad thing happened to me.”

  She’s quiet, and I rush to fill the awkward silence.

  “But I liked the kiss. And he’s been nothing but nice to me. I just don’t think it’s worth it - love, and sex. It just seems pointless, and scary. People leave you, or hurt you, over and over again if you let them.”

  She nods after a moment. “Yeah. It blows. Love can blow sometimes, and sex even moreso. Sometimes you have sex when you know you shouldn’t have, or don’t want to. Sometimes sex is boring and sometimes it’s hilarious and other times it’s hot. Even when it’s hot, sometimes you can’t stand that person out of bed, so you can never love them. It’s rare to find love and sex in one package, especially in college, you know?”

  I nod. “Doesn’t stop people from trying, though.”

  Hayley laughs. “Oh, definitely.”

  We watch the coffee shop crowd, eating and talking and studying in a buzz of constant activity. For a moment it feels like we’re the only ones taking it slow, at our own pace. We’re an island of quiet in the middle of chaos, and it feels nice.

  “You didn’t answer my question, by the way,” Hayley says finally.

  “Which one?”

  “Do you like him?”

  I pause, dredging up my memories of him - sitting under the stars, his two-tone eyes locking on me as I danced, the feel of his strong back entwined in my arms on the motorcycle. I think of him in the graveyard, sad and alone, and of his lips - desperate and burning against my own.

  “I could,” I say slowly. “I don’t know what it’s like to have a crush on someone for real - I had one in middle school, but that wasn’t anything but childish. This is -” I flush. “This is something different.”

  My body burns with its difference.

  “So is that a yes or no?” Hayley insists.

  “Yes,” I say finally. “I like him.”

  Those three words release a ton of the pressure that’d been building on my shoulders since the night of the party. I like him. I do. Hayley has to go to class, but she gives me her number and I give her mine. She waves as she walks down the sidewalk, and I turn towards home.

  Even if I like Kai, there’s no way he likes me the same way. He wants a fling. He kissed me because he wants to sleep with me and discard me; like Hayley, like all the other girls before. Sex means nothing to him, and love even less. No matter how good that kiss felt, or whether or not it was my first, it meant nothing to him. He’s done it a thousand times with a dozen other girls. Love and dating mean zilch to sleazebag extraordinaire.

  Even if I like him, it’s not going to happen.

  So I lock him away in my heart, like a child locking their favorite toys in a box before burying them in the backyard. This is a time capsule - the moment of when I first liked someone after what happened to me. It’s a good sign. It means I can still like someone, want someone, kiss someone.

  “I’m not ruined forever,” I mumble in the elevator on my way up the apartment building. “Thanks, Kai, for helping me realize that at least.”

  ***

  The spell over me has been broken. I can sleep again; seven hours a night of pure, uninterrupted bliss revisits me like an old friend. I spend the week dreading the weekend - I have to visit Dad. I mean, I don’t have to. I’d love more than anything to cut ties with the smug bastard and move on with my life, but I’ve never been brave enough to do it. Not when he’s paying for my degree.

  Hayley friends me on facebook, which is big news for me - I don’t have that many friends on it, or get new ones very often. We talk a lot as we study. She’s even funnier online, where she posts pictures of her modeling. You’d think that it would be her modeling, but no - she makes model airplanes, and they’re amazing. In excruciating detail she brings old airplanes from World War II to life, with tiny working propellers, true-to-life missiles with every serial number painted on them in microscopic numbers. She’s so good she has a following; mostly elderly men who fought in the war or middle-aged toy collectors or military fanatics. I’m always surprised when she tells me how much they sell for - she can comfortably keep abreast of her student loans and rent without blinking.

  My dad used to help me make them, she types one night while we’re both studying.

  That’s awesome, I say. And adorable.

  Isn’t it? LOL. He was great

  Was?

  There’s a long pause, and I can see her taking a while to type. Did I say something wrong?

  He died of complications from multiple sclerosis when I was twelve.

  Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t meant to bring up bad memories.

  No it’s okay, silly. It was a long time ago. He wouldn’t want me to keep being all sad over it.

  She’s so strong. I take a while to type back.

  My dad’s still around. He’s a bit of an asshole. He always guilt trips me and tries to control my life and shit talks my Mom. I hate it. And I can’t say I like him, either. But he’s paying for my college so I have to visit him at least one weekend a month. Does that make me sound spoiled?

  LOL not at all. Just because they’re family and still alive doesn’t mean you have to like them. I hate my brother with a passion, so I totally get it.

  We’re silent as we study for a bit, and then she types.

  Hey, if you ever need a rescue from your Dad’s, text me, okay? I’ll come get you. No matter what time, or what the weather is. I promise.

  I smile, my heart buzzing with warmth.

  Thanks. I might just take you up on that.

  That Saturday, the second I hop off the greyhound bus I know I’ve made a mistake. Dad’s waiting in the terminal, his arms crossed over his usual gray t-shirt with his company’s logo on it. His salt-and-pepper hair is slowly balding, and his steel-colored eyes are identical to mine. The similarities between us end there, though.

  “Hey there,” He says as I walk over. “Almost didn’t recognize you with all that makeup on.”

  “It’s just a little eyeliner, Dad,” I sigh and heft my backpack higher on my shoulder. “It never killed anyone.”

  “Well, you should take it off before we get home. You know Loretta hates that crap.”

  “She hates everything without the word ‘jesus’ in it.”

  Dad’s face turns instantly red, his mustache quivering. “What was that?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. I can’t wait to see her.” I put on a smile. His eyes narrow, but he just shakes his head and lets it go if I apologize fast enough. The car ride home isn’t quiet - Dad can’t stop talking about how his business is doing, and how he’s got big-name clients coming through.

  “Have you thought about applying for a student loan?” Dad asks. “That way, you could learn to handle your own money.”

  “Handle my own debt, you mean.”

  He sighs. “We’re all in debt, Eve. I took out debts to start this business, and look where I am now. I made it work with effort and determination, and no one babysat me by paying my business expenses. If you don’t learn how to be responsible now, you’ll end up like your mother - helpless and dependent on other people just to live.”

  I bite my tongue to keep myself from pointing out Mom had a successful job as an accountant in a high-stakes firm until she got pregnant with me and Dad forced her to quit. He didn’t let her go back to work the entire time I was growing up - how did he expect her to make enough money to take care of herself? He forbade it. Now that they’re divorced and he has to pay her settlements, he’s angry? It’s official - my dad is such a child.

  “I’ll be fine, Dad.” I insist. He ‘harumphs’.

  “Alright. Just think about it for now. It’d be a big relief off my shoulders.”

  God forbid he help his kid out with college. God forbids a lot of things, according to his new wife, Loretta. She’s the old-school Christian type - with ble
ach-blonde hair and a pair of bright blue eyes, she once was probably really pretty. But age and hate have soured her - her smile is bitter on the edges every time she sees me, and this time is no exception. I walk into the kitchen of their two-story, newly-renovated house, and she turns and smiles that same bitter smile.

  “Eve! How lovely to see you.”

  She swoops over in an apron and hugs me tight - so tight I think she wants my head to pop off.

  “Hi, Loretta,” I force out. She pulls away and taps the wooden spoon she’s been holding on my nose.

  “Oh my goodness, look at that tawdry eyeliner of yours. You’re growing up so fast, young lady.”

  “I’m nineteen,” I say. “Surprise - I’m a legal adult.”

  Even her laugh is stale, like she’s rehearsed it. “So you are. Do me a favor and wash it off before you come down to dinner, will you? We all must be pure when we receive the nourishment of our Lord.”

  I knit my lips shut. Loretta smiles wider.

  “I’m making pot roast. Do you like pot roast?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  Dad comes in and they kiss, and I make a break for the stairs before I can vomit all over the clean floor. My room is the guest room - the bed and curtains the same rose-pattern and smelling like cloying, too-sweet febreeze. A cross hangs on the wall, and a bible sits in the bedside table. There’s no TV - that’s downstairs. Thankfully, I always bring my favorite books. I learned not to bring Harry Potter the first time I came over in Freshmen year - I came home from the zoo with Dad to find Loretta had thrown them away, calling them the work of the devil. All the books I bring now I keep in an airtight, lockable aluminum box so she can’t snoop inside.

  At dinner, the conversation is boring and forced - Loretta asking if I like school, if there’s a prayer group I could join.

  “You look like you’ve put on a few pounds,” She smiles over a forkful of mashed potatoes. “What are you are eating at that school?”

  “What I weigh doesn’t concern you,” I say instantly.

  “Eve!” Dad thumps his fist on the table. “Respect your stepmother right now, young lady.”