Innocents

by Mary Elizabeth

  “Everything’s been fucked-up since then.”

  “It’s been messed up all along.” She sits up and Leighlee brings the sheet under her arms.

  I pull it away, baring her entire body. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide yourself from me.”

  “You’re acting crazy,” she mumbles, lying back down, uncovered.

  “You haven’t seen crazy, baby.” I smirk.

  Hopeless eyes look up at me from a tired expression. “You keep throwing it in my face.”

  “It shouldn’t have happened,” I answer, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  A pause, a beat, and a breath. “I shouldn’t have done it, but you’ve slept with the entire school behind my back.”

  “I wouldn’t be fucking them, if you’d let me fuck you.”

  Love is vengeful.

  The color in her eyes darkens and the hint of pink in her cheeks drains. She licks her lips, and the space between her eyebrows creases. I watch her chest rise and fall, and through quiet, I swear to God I hear love’s heart break.

  “You’re such a hypocrite,” she says.

  You really are, cocaine blooms in the presences of forever’s pain.

  “I don’t care,” I answer.

  “Not only about Oliver, but about Becka and Pete …” This little girl’s small voice falters into a cry.

  “What do they have to do with anything?”

  Leighlee sits up and covers herself with a pillow. Her face, red with splotches and swollen with exhaustion, composes. With the exception of the quiver in her chin, she is strong … stronger than me.

  “You got so mad,” she says.

  “She’s my sister.”

  “And it’s okay that you’re with me because I’m not anyone’s sister?”

  I look away, without an answer.

  Our love is not perfect. We are fucked-up and bleeding, but neither one of us is powerful enough to walk away from it like we should.

  I DON’T look for Leigh.

  But I see her.

  At the end of the hallway with the sweater giver.

  I’ve thought about her all day. I’ve thought about the way her navy blue dress sways against her thighs, and how her bangs are too long and they don’t stay when she pushes them behind her ear. I’ve thought about how this summer can be different compared to the last, and maybe in a few weeks I can ask her to be my girl again.

  Now the only thing I can think about is breaking Oliver’s face.

  I watch the sunshine through the window highlight my girl’s blush. He says things to her I can’t hear, and she laughs, tilting her head back. Leigh swats his forearm, and he brushes his knuckles across her bare shoulder before sliding his finger under her halter ties.

  Love playfully pushes his hand away.

  “What?” his lips read.

  I walk in her direction, pushing through anyone in my way.

  “Don’t touch my dress,” I hear her say as I get closer.

  Petey appears out of nowhere and hooks his arm around the back of my neck. “Last day of school,” he says. “Party at my place.”

  Close enough to see the freckles across Leigh’s nose, I turn away from love and pat my pockets.

  “Sure,” I say, clearing anxiousness from my throat.

  Pete looks past my shoulder and nods. “Look at those dorks.”

  I glance over as Oliver moves Leighlee’s bangs out of her sight. Our eyes meet as soon as she can see. Her smile falls and she takes a step forward.

  It takes all my self-control not to grab her by her dress straps to show him Bliss is mine.

  Instead of beating his ass and outing the only secret worth keeping, I head toward the doors. The sound of flip-flops smacking on the back of her feet follow, but I’m faster.

  Stepping onto the pavement, I bump right into my sister. Her backpack falls down her arm and she stumbles back.

  “Sorry,” I mumble as I pass.

  “Did you forget you’re driving me home?” she calls out, chasing after me.

  Cream-colored leather is hot through my clothes, and the cab of the car is end of May airless. Light perspiration forms at my hairline, and a bead of sweat drips down my lower back. I start the Continental and put the transmission in reverse as Becka opens the back door and slides in.

  “Wait for Bliss,” she says. Cooler air comes in with her.

  My eyes shift up to the rearview mirror as Leighlee slips into the seat beside her best friend. Her nose and forehead carry a slight shine from the heat.

  I roll down my window and turn up strong back beats and hollow electric echoes from my stereo to drown the constant hum of compulsion. I lick my dry lips and grip the steering wheel. It’s all I can do to keep from calling my bag boy.

  You know you want to, my haunter whispers while the reason I shouldn’t sits right behind me. The anger I felt when I saw her with Oliver comes second to the sudden need for the other girl in my life.

  By the time I reach my house, I’m twitchy with need and hungry to fill the hole in my heart.

  I’m never too far, boy.

  Parking the Lincoln in the driveway, I kill the engine and lean my head back against the seat. I close my eyes and place my hand over my hammering heartbeat, breathing with effort through constricted lungs.

  “What the—” Rebecka gets out of the car, leaving the door open.

  Leighlee leans forward and places her lips right above my ear. Baby gently asks, “What’s wrong with your face?”

  The softness of her voice lessens the rattle in my bones. I look over my shoulder and am met with cheeks warmed scarlet and eyes a concerned green.

  She tenderly kisses the corner of my smile and says, “Love is crazy.”

  “I love you, too,” I say.

  My girl twirls her fingers through my hair and nods toward the garage. “Did you know they got that for her?”

  Parked behind my dad’s Mercedes is a red Jeep I’ve never seen before.

  “Take it back,” my sister insists, dropping her bag on the concrete. Mascara-smudged tears run out of her sparkling blue eyes. “I don’t need a car. Smitty can drive me where I need to go. You’re ruining my life.”

  I stand beside my dad while Bliss approaches my mother, who looks horrified by her daughter’s reaction. Sixteen-year-old girls don’t normally stomp their feet and kick up dust when given a new vehicle. But Becka’s impossible, and this is my parents’ way of helping her feel better about the breakup.

  As if a hug wouldn’t suffice.

  “Don’t act like a brat, Rebecka.” I pat my dad supportively on the back.

  He gives me a sideways look, which clearly states: shut the fuck up, Dusty.

  The epitome of teen angst turns to me, smacking tears away. “What do you know about love? You’ve only ever loved yourself.”

  I look over at Bliss and wink. She covers her smile behind her hands.

  “Do you know anything about me, Dad?” Becka asks before turning her anger toward our mother. “I’m not you, Mom. Stop shoving this shit down my throat.”

  I laugh. “Chill out, drama.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Rebecka!” Mom, Dad, and Leigh all say at the same time.

  “All I want is my boyfriend back. This is your fault.” Rebecka points a finger at me before she runs toward the house. Bliss goes after her.

  After a moment of awkward silence between my parents and me, I shrug and say, “I passed eleventh grade.”

  In true Castor form, Dad doesn’t skip a beat.

  “Thank God for small miracles,” he replies.

  Thirty minutes later, I pass Becka’s open bedroom. “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” sings from her stereo, and she’s on the end of her bed with a tissue in her hand. Leighlee rocks and twirls in her blue dress, singing slowly with the slower song.

  When the song ends, Bliss jumps on Rebecka and says, “You got a new car!”

  They fall back onto the mattress. Becka pulls baby’s dress up and smacks her ass ove
r light yellow undies.

  The girls need their moment, so I head to my room.

  When my phone wakes me up from an unplanned nap, the sun is down and my room is dark, objects are shadowed by the blinking light from my cell. I roll from my stomach to my back, but keep my eyes closed.

  I told Pete I’d come over, but as I lie here and the bass from Becka’s room hums through the walls, the only thing I want to do is be with my girl. But my boy’s relentless, so I answer his call.

  “Where are you?” he asks, muffled by the music and laughter on his side of the phone.

  I sit up in bed and brush my fingers through hair that’s heat-damp at the roots. “I’m going to stay in tonight.”

  My best friend scoffs. “Don’t be a pussy. Casper actually graduated. Come celebrate.”

  On my feet, I stretch tight muscles and straighten my spine. “Call me tomorrow.”

  “Unacceptable. Come get your dick sucked and drink some brews.”

  I walk out into the hallway and say, “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Pussy,” Petey yells into the receiver as I hang up.

  Rebecka’s bedroom door is still open, illuminating the hallway with the light from inside. Little sisters are stomach-down on the queen-size bed, facing away from me. Their feet are bare and their dirty little toes wiggle as they flip through a year book. Pointing at black and white pictures, they laugh and joke and lean into each other.

  “Do you think I’ll forget Smitty when we get to California?” Becka asks, flipping a glossy page.

  A heavy weight presses on my chest, and my eyebrows push together in confusion. I take a step forward.

  Becka shrugs. “You’ll get back together before we go to college. You don’t want to be with Petey, right?”

  Panic raids my heart and the fiend who lives in me flickers awake.

  “Sometimes I wonder,” Becka answers nonchalantly.

  Leigh closes the yearbook and says, “What if we move to California, then what?”

  She’s a secret keeper, but I’ve been spared from love’s manipulation and betrayal until lately. Disloyalty from the only person I normally count on is worse than the disappointment I feel toward my parents’ bullshit idea of affection, and the emptiness I encounter when I’m touched by anyone who isn’t Bliss.

  She’s the only one who gives me reason, but what’s it for if she’s leaving me?

  “He can come with us,” my sister says with a smile.

  Leighlee returns the gesture and says, “Who?”

  Picturing strawberry blonde hair and summer freckles under the California sun is easy—she’d thrive with the palm trees, warm beaches, and Hollywood dreams. But it’s not supposed to be, and the thought of a life without her would bring me to my knees if resentment wasn’t holding me up.

  “High school sweetheart shit never works out anyway, B,” I say.

  Both girls turn and look at me. Leigh’s grin collapses and the color bleeds from her face, but my sister’s smile curves up.

  “Would you miss me if I moved to California, Dusty?” she asks, leaning her head on her hand.

  I make it a point to keep my eyes from Leighlee’s. Being in the same room as her in this moment makes me sick, but delights the monster. Cocaine’s lingering company slithers beneath my skin, kissing pulse points and licking bones. She guides me away from the fraud … the liar … the trickster.

  “Yeah, Becka,” I say as I go, “I’ll miss you.”

  Down the hall, I slam my door and lock it, and drop to my knees to reach under my bed for an old shoe box with my stash. With shaky hands, I snap the white lid off the orange prescription bottle that doesn’t have my name on it and shake a few white pills in my palm and toss them back. I swallow dry and chuck the empty container across the room.

  California.

  I pull at my hair with both hands and groan while the space around me spins.

  You want me. Come and get me, cocaine stirs.

  I push open my bathroom door and start the shower, avoiding my sorry reflection in the mirror. Under the blistering water, prescription narcotics lighten the heaviness in my head but do nothing for the weight in my heart.

  California.

  California.

  California.

  Over and over and over until I punch the shower wall, splitting scarred skin and cracking tile. Blood drips from my right hand, but the physical sting is masked by the pills floating in my stomach.

  I wrap a towel around my waist and open my closet. Water drips from the tip of my nose and the ends of my hair. Everything is kind of slow, sort of dragging, and fuzzy around the edges. I pull a white V-neck over my head and dark denim up my legs. After my feet are in shoes, I find a hat and stick my cigarettes in my front pocket.

  Guided by compulsion, I leave the house without a word to anyone and open the Lincoln with my good hand.

  Come to me, beautiful boy. Beautifully easy. Beautifully mine.

  My heart rate speeds up before I hear the leaves crunch under her bare feet. Leighlee runs to me from around the house, in the dress she let him touch. Watching her through hazy eyes, I lean against my car door and wait for betrayal to come to me.

  She tries to grab my keys.

  “You can’t drive high, Thomas,” my heartbreaker says.

  “I’m not.” I shove the keys into my pocket.

  Bliss stands with her hands on her hips. “I’m not stupid.”

  Considering she wants to move to a different state and leave me for fucking ever, the conspirator in the blue dress looks as if she might be concerned for my wellbeing with narrow green eyes and straight Judas lips.

  “I must be, right?” I slip a cigarette from my pack to the corner of my mouth and cup my hand over the end to light it.

  “You don’t think I’m going to California, do you?” she asks. Baby drops her hands from her hips and takes a step toward me.

  I back up and blow smoke over Leigh’s head. “That’s what it sounded like to me, strawberry blonde.”

  A nighttime breeze sails through the yard, and baby’s hair flies up around her head. “You’re wrong.”

  Her bangs fall around her eyes, and I move them this time. “How do you do it, Bliss?”

  “Do what?” She turns her face into my hand and kisses the inside of my palm.

  “Stop thinking about me.”

  Leighlee clutches the front of my shirt with her right hand and pulls, causing my cigarette to fall from my lips to our feet. Laughing, but concerned for her bare feet, I snub the cherry out with the toe of my shoe while she stretches cotton in her small grip.

  “Are you kidding me?” my girl shrieks.

  With her free hand, Bliss knocks off my hat and takes a handful of my hair between her nimble fingers and jerks my head to the side.

  “You selfish prick,” she screams. “Gutless asshole.”

  Numbed by meds my mother should have locked up, I don’t feel anything but glowing passion from deep within my being as she shoves me back.

  I love this kind of crazy.

  “Fight me, little girl,” I whisper into her ear between shirt ripping and hair pulling.

  I turn my head and capture her lips, pushing her back against the car. I place my hands on the sides of her face and grip until she whimpers and opens her mouth. When our tongues touch, I press my stomach against her stomach, and my chest against hers.

  Her breath is sweet sugar and her eyes are wild fire. Instead of pulling me, she clings.

  “Stay,” she says against my lips.

  I kiss the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her neck. She quietly moans and wraps her leg around me.

  “Stay,” she says again with promise in her voice.

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  “Just stay.”

  But then there are tire sounds from the end of the street.

  I look to see who it is.

  And I laugh again.

  The sweater giver and Smitty cruise toward us in an old pickup.

&
nbsp; Leighlee lowers to her bare feet and I turn away, unprepared for the onslaught of devastation that breaks me down.

  “Dusty, I swear I didn’t know they were coming. I promise—”

  Before the boys pull up, I kiss my girl on the top of the head and say, “We don’t promise. It’s a rule.”

  “YOU WANT in on this?” Petey asks as he cuts a rail for himself and Kelly on his dirty coffee table.

  All of the windows are open, and a slight breeze comes through, but the air conditioner’s busted and the place never cools down.

  “I’m good,” I say, taking a drink from my beer.

  My best friend and his girl snort lines, swift and precise. Kelly rubs her red nose on the back of her hand and falls back against the timeworn couch. She lifts her feet onto Petey’s lap, unaware or uncaring that her dress has ridden up and her purple underwear are showing.

  Pete drops the rolled up five onto the glass table and sits back.

  “Who ripped your shirt?”

  “Becka,” I lie.

  The mention of my sister’s name reddens his flushed cheeks and broadens dilated eyes. He reaches for his cell and cuts up another line with his phone at his ear, holding it up with his shoulder.

  I take another drink.

  “I’m sorry I kissed you,” Pete says into the receiver. I roll my eyes. Kelly sits up. “But you have to talk to me, Becka. My life is incomplete without you.”

  This boy sounds sincere.

  “You kissed Rebecka?” Kelly asks.

  “Don’t you miss me?” he continues, ignoring the girl beside him with his marks on her neck.

  “What the heck?” Kelly raises her voice. She punches Petey in the shoulder.

  He gets up and walks toward the kitchen. His unbuckled belt bounces and clink-sings.

  “You know what I’d do for you. You fucking know …” he says.

  I get up and walk out back.

  A huge mistake.

  She’s kind of beautiful in a sort of fucked-up way, a gentleness to her white trash exterior. She’s a lost girl waiting to be found. But she’s not going to find what she’s looking for riding dick all the time.

  “Hey, Dusty.” She blows dense smoke into the night air and flicks her cigarette butt into the grass.

  Mixie pushes out a green, sun-bleached chair with her foot, motioning for me to sit beside her. Nothing good comes from being this close to a Slut, but I sit anyway, and when the plastic bends and threatens to break under my weight, we both laugh.