Forfeiting Decency

by Rachel Schneider

  Kip looks away from the kids playing. “Whose house is this?”

  I point at a young boy sitting on the other side of the tree, almost imperceptible from our standpoint with a book in his hand. “That’s my brother—Jackson.”

  “Brother?” he says, eyes squinting to get a better view. “I thought you were an only child.”

  “I thought I was, too, until Peter disclosed his birth certificate to me after the trial. Apparently my dad had an affair and did a damn good job hiding it. Jackson is my half-brother.”

  “Does he know you’re his sister?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what his mom has told him about our dad or my family.”

  “You haven’t contacted him?” he says, eyes traveling from my brother back to me. In this light, the blue of his eyes looks iridescent. I study them, urging myself to remember what they look like in case I never get to see them like this again.

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  My eyes land on the figure of a woman standing behind the screen door. She has a hand on her hip and she uses the other to shield her eyes from the fading sun. “Paula, Jackson’s mom, used to teach elementary school before she had Jackson. It was barely enough to pay the bills then, and it definitely didn’t cut it once Jackson was born.”

  “Your dad didn’t help?”

  Paula opens the screen door and calls for the kids to go inside for dinner. Jackson doesn’t stir, completely absorbed in his book. Paula calls for him a few times before giving up and walking down the steps and across the yard to get his attention. He snaps his head up when she’s within a few feet of him, and Paula’s smile can even be seen from where we’re at, amused by Jackson’s reaction. He bookmarks his page and stands, and Kip gets his first, full view of him.

  I shake my head. “Jackson has cystic fibrosis.”

  Kip looks back towards the house, watching as Jackson and Paula walk up the stairs of the porch. Jackson is nine, but his stature looks that of a kid much younger. His arms and legs are noticeably thin under the weight of his clothes. He can pass as a normal, healthy seven-year-old, but he’s actually an ever-sick nine-year-old.

  “Whenever Peter told me about them, Paula was close to losing the house. She quit teaching when Jackson was diagnosed so she could stay home and care for him, and now she babysits whenever she can to make ends meet.”

  It takes him a moment, but understanding registers on Kip’s face and I look away, too afraid to see what he’s thinking. “Does she know the money comes from you?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m sure she knows it’s from somewhere on my father’s side.”

  He says my name, but I don’t look at him, eyes still trained on the house.

  “I was sixteen when he was born. It was the year I received a pearl-white BMW with white leather stitching. It was exactly what I wanted, everything detailed, even down to the size of the cup holders.” I laugh at how ridiculous it sounds, how incredibly entitled I was. I believed I had earned that car. “And all the while, my baby brother was in and out of the hospital because the doctors couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t progressing like a normal newborn. And to make matters worse, my dad acted like he didn’t exist.”

  “Kaley, that isn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for something you knew nothing about.”

  “Maybe not,” I say, half shrugging. “But if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I would have done anything about it anyway.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “All I cared about was the new make-up palette that was out or who I was going to homecoming with. I overlooked all of the signs my father was a disgusting human because it benefitted me to stay ignorant.”

  “You were a teenager. You cared about normal things a teenage girl cares about. It wasn’t your responsibility to check and make sure your dad was doing things morally apprehensible.”

  “But I didn’t even care to look,” I say, finally meeting his eyes. “I didn’t care about anyone, or anything, but myself.”

  He shakes his head slightly, like he can’t quite believe the words coming out of my mouth. A part of me feels good that he thinks so highly of me, but the other, self-aware part of me knows it’s only false.

  Deciding the argument is futile, he directs the conversation elsewhere. “So why haven’t you contacted him yet?”

  “What would I say? Our dad only took care of one of us, but I want to be your sister now that he’s gone, is that okay?”

  He gives me an incredulous look. “You didn’t consider the possibility he might just be excited to have a sister in the first place?”

  “On the slight chance he would be accepting, I’d have to go through Paula first. I can’t just waltz in and demand a relationship with my brother I didn’t know about until four years ago.”

  He eyes me, speculative. “Are you sure it’s not the added fear she might not let you, so you keep your distance to protect yourself from rejection?”

  “Slow your roll,” I say, holding up a hand. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

  “You don’t have to say the words to make them true. If there’s one thing I can fault you for, it’s not giving your brother the chance to gain someone else to root for him. I know it’s hard for you to understand as an only child, but having someone to rely on sometimes makes all the difference.”

  I find comfort in his presence. Every now and then, I’ll unconsciously find myself leaning towards him or about to grab his hand, and my breath will catch when I remember I’m not allowed to do those things anymore.

  Guilt is a nasty thing. It doesn’t care about forgiveness or rationale. It slithers in to remind me of all the bad things I’ve done, and worse, of all the good things I could have done, but didn’t. He doesn’t force me to see his side, and I’m grateful as I instruct Kip to wait until nightfall.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell him, opening the door.

  “Wait,” he says, grabbing my arm to stop me. “Where are you going?”

  I’m hesitant to show him because I don’t want him to think I’m only doing this for his benefit. Knowing he’s not going to let me go until I tell him, I retrieve the envelope from my purse. “I’m going to slip this in the mailbox.”

  His eyes move from the white envelope and back to me. “I’ll go,” he says.

  “No, it’s okay—”

  “Kaley, this isn’t the neighborhood to be walking around with this much cash on you. I’ll do it.”

  For a split second I debate mentioning his control issues, but force myself not to for the sake of keeping the peace. “Fine.”

  He instructs me to lock the doors as he gets out. There’s something in him that feels, and that something is better than nothing. It makes me want to push him, purposefully disagree with everything he says, to see exactly how deep those feelings run. But I also know Kip will reveal what he wants and it has to be his choice.

  I’m just starting to get worried and I scream when he knocks on the driver window. I hear his chuckle through the glass and I scowl at him as I lean over to unlock the door.

  “Did I scare you?”

  “Ha ha, so funny,” I mock, snapping my seatbelt on.

  He laughs harder as he starts the ignition and drives away. He doesn’t turn the headlights on until we’re a decent distance from the house. Even though he disagrees with my decision to stay out of Jackson’s life, he goes out of his way to help me keep my secret.

  Holy shit, I’m in love with Kip.

  It’s the first time the thought hasn’t set panic to my insides.

  “What are you smiling at?” Kip says, glancing from the road, to me, and back again. His face is a mixture of concern and amusement, eyes hiding a smile he refuses to show.

  I choose my next words very carefully. “I can’t imagine anyone but you touching me.”

  Quickly, the happiness in his eyes dissipates altogether and he focuses on driving
again. “Then why’d you let him?”

  His words hurt in a different way than I’ve ever hurt before. “I couldn’t figure out why it made me sick, at first. Not until we were already…there,” I say, trying to find an easy way to put it. “Then I couldn’t stop it.”

  Kip’s head snaps in my direction. “What do you mean you couldn’t stop it?”

  Shit. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “Then tell me what I’m thinking,” he says, his tone harsh but a tad doubtful as well.

  “I allowed it to get to a point of no return, Kip. No matter what, I allowed him to go there.”

  My body slams forward in my seat and I brace a hand against the glove compartment as Kip pulls to the side of the interstate. “He forced you to have sex with him?”

  “Kip, no. I told you it wasn’t like that.”

  “So you’re saying you wanted to have sex with him and it was completely consensual the entire time?”

  My mouth goes completely dry as I replay the night in my head. It’s kind of blurry, but I can recall bits and pieces. I’ve spent days trying to avoid overanalyzing it, but now I’m having difficulties remembering it at all.

  “I-I don’t…”

  Kip’s voice washes over me, much more calm than before. “Take a deep breath.” I do as he says. “Take your time and tell me what happened.”

  Focusing on the moment, I let the most vivid aspect come back to me. The feel of the threads of the couch under my palms, the smell of his cologne, the weight of Peter’s forearm on the curve of my back, and the sound of the clock ticking.

  “I couldn’t go through with it,” I say, hating how small my voice sounds. “I told him I wanted to stop, but he didn’t.”

  “It’s okay,” Kip says, wrapping a hand around my neck and bringing my head to his chest. At some point he had scooted closer to me on the seat. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  It’s weird how he keeps saying that like he truly believes it. I don’t know how he can’t see how wrong he is.

  “Kip, I’m so sorry.”

  I don’t have to specify for what, because he already knows. He doesn’t reply as he holds me, and I let him because I’m too selfish to stop it. It takes a while for the tension to leave his body, letting go of his bout of anger. Finally, he releases me and makes me look at him. “That first day at Lilly’s, when you showed up with a bruise on your face, was that him?”

  I had forgotten about that bruise since it faded so long ago. I shake my head. “No.”

  “It was someone else?”

  I hate that I can’t lie to him. “Yes.”

  He takes a deep breath. He must be able to tell that I don’t want to discuss it because after a moment, he says, “We aren’t as different as you think.”

  “Yeah? How’s that?”

  He licks his lips, eyes moving between mine, and I can tell he’s about to reveal something that he’s never told me before. “I had a year-long affair with a married woman when I was seventeen.”

  The surprise must read all over my face because he smiles, and it loosens the rein around my chest.

  “I was stealing her BMW because I knew the parts would resell really high. She caught me, and instead of calling the cops, she invited me inside.”

  “You had sex with her so she wouldn’t report you?”

  He nods, a touch of embarrassment touching his cheeks. “It’s how I lost my virginity.”

  “And you kept sleeping with her for a year because…?”

  Glancing away, he shrugs nonchalantly. “I wanted to.”

  I huff out a small breath of laughter. “I suppose we are a lot alike.”

  He smiles but becomes serious again. “I don’t think you should stay in your apartment.”

  “I only have a week left before I have to leave, so I won’t be there much longer. I’ve been looking at other places.”

  It doesn’t seem to pacify him, but he eventually nods, if a little reluctantly. “We should get going,” he says, slowly starting to pull away. He holds my eyes as he moves to his side of the truck and starts the ignition. We drive the rest of the way in silence and I don’t mind it this time. Emotions I can’t pinpoint squeeze my chest as we park in front of my apartment.

  “Thanks again for coming with me,” I say, prolonging getting out of the truck.

  He nods. “Thank you for sharing it with me. Your brother and everything,” he clarifies, but doesn’t detail what everything means. It’s my turn to nod, and I open the door to get out when his voice stops me again. “Give me some time to think, okay?”

  I nearly fall to my knees in relief and I vaguely note how unhealthy it is for me to feel like my life is do-or-die without him, but it’s uncontrollable.

  “Okay,” I say, trying hard not to show how much hope he’s just given me.

  “KALEY, WAKE UP.”

  My eyes snap open and I jerk upright in bed, head-butting Kip in the forehead.

  “Fuck,” he cusses, holding a palm to his head.

  “Ow.” I fall back, holding my head in my hands. “Why are you standing over me like a creeper while I sleep?”

  “I was trying not to freak you out.”

  “Good job,” I say sarcastically.

  He rubs the spot on his forehead once more before dropping his hand. “Pack whatever you need for tonight and tomorrow. We’ll come back for your stuff in the morning.”

  I lean on an elbow and switch on the bedside lamp. “What time is it?”

  “A little after midnight.”

  “Kip, it’s the middle of the night.”

  “I know, I just told you what time it is.”

  I laugh. “So let me sleep. I’m fine.”

  He glares at me. “You’re not fine. I broke into your apartment with a flathead screwdriver and you didn’t even wake up. It’s not safe for you to be here.”

  We stare at each other a few seconds and it takes every ounce of willpower not to smile and give myself away. Showing up in the middle of the night is revealing his true feelings and just how much he cares. He knows it. If I make it a big deal, he might second-guess his decision. I need to act like everything is normal.

  Rolling my eyes, I fall back into bed and pull the cover tighter around my chin. “I’m not going anywhere but back to sleep.”

  In one swoop, the blanket is stripped from my body and I scream at the cool air against my exposed skin. “Have you lost your mind?” I yell, reaching but failing to get the cover from him.

  “Maybe,” he says, eyes trailing over my body.

  It’s then I realize how exposed I actually am. A tank top and sleep shorts don’t cover much.

  “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” I say, yanking the covers from his grasp. “Now go away.”

  Once I’m covered, it’s like he snaps to. Kip may be different from any man I’ve met, but he’s still a man. “I’m not leaving you here,” he says.

  “Fine,” I say, peeling the edge of the covers back. “Sleep here, but I’m not going anywhere.”

  He hesitates. “Kaley…”

  Too tired to argue, I scoot to the other side of the bed and flip over, putting my back toward him. “Turn out the light when you make up your mind.” He doesn’t reply and it’s silent for so long, I start to wonder if he will actually leave.

  When his side of the bed dips, I can’t stop my smile. I listen as he kicks off his shoes. There’s another moment of silence and I imagine him debating how much of his clothing he’ll shed. Kip normally sleeps in his underwear, sometimes nude after we would have sex, so I know jeans a t-shirt will be the furthest things from comfortable for him.

  “Just get undressed already. I’m not going to touch you.”

  I hear his sigh, followed by him standing and undressing. Listening intently, I calculate which item of clothing he’s working on. First his shirt, then the button and zipper of his pants, and I hear the way the material glides down his legs as he takes them off one pant leg at a time. Warmth spreads
throughout my body and I realize just the sound of him getting undressed turns me on.

  I’m so screwed.

  Turning off the lamp, he gets in bed. He repositions the pillow I vacated, sliding down enough to get under the covers. There’s a few minutes of him fidgeting before he finally stills. The quiet is so loud it makes my ears ring. Apparently I’m listening too hard.

  He speaks, his voice a deep, soft whisper. “Relax.”

  I hadn’t noticed, but my body is strung tight. Having him so close, with so much touchable skin and surrounded by his smell, is setting every fiber of my being on fire. I count to ten in my head and hope I can dispel the tension. It doesn’t work.

  “Are you mad at me for breaking into your apartment?”

  I let out a burst of laughter, turning over so I can see him. It’s dark, but my sight adjusts to the dark enough to make out his features. “No. I should be, but I’m not.” Matter of fact, it makes me all too happy.

  I hear him swallow before he speaks. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Are you still having nightmares about mustard?”

  It’s his turn to laugh, and his teeth reflect the only light in the darkness. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

  I smile. “Never.”

  His teeth disappear and I know whatever he’s about to say will be much more serious. I’m just not expecting what it is. “Do you think you can love me?”

  It’s like someone reaches inside my chest and squeezes my heart until the point of bursting. Then all at once, it releases, pumping furiously.

  I’ve said the words in my head. I’ve come to accept the fact I do. But saying them out loud to the person who has the ability to walk away at any moment is a completely different story. Especially because I’ve created a shit-storm any person in their right mind would run from, let alone walk away at a leisurely pace. If I don’t, I ruin the possibility he might stay. I’ll hang on to that slim possibility, simply because the alternative is the scariest scenario I can imagine.