Red Water: A Novel

by Kristen Mae

  I swallow hard. My chest is tight, constricted. Is this what excites him more than anything? “Still with the bathtub, with the red water. Like…her.” Like my mom. Like I wanted from the moment I saw her. I knew right away it was my fault. You should have just climbed into the tub with your mother. Did my father say that to me, or did I say it to myself? I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter.

  Garrett has not said anything, has not even moved. It’s like he knows I need to sit here and ponder this for a minute, that I need to warm to the idea on my own.

  Finally, I turn my head to look at him. “You’d like to watch, wouldn’t you?” I cannot fucking believe it, but I am throbbing between the legs.

  His eyes blaze in the darkness, as if lit from within. “You wouldn’t.” His breathing has become unsteady.

  My heart is wreaking havoc in the tight cavity of my chest, beating so hard that it hurts. My throat constricts until my breath is compacted into a high-pitched wheeze. I turn and grab Garrett by the shoulders. “Do bad things to me,” I hiss through my teeth. “Hurry up and hurt me.”

  * * *

  Exams are finished. I ended with a C in Twentieth-Century Europe, a B in Statistics, and As in everything else. There was a time these failures would have lit a fire under me, driven me to prove myself. But I can’t make myself care anymore. Fuck Professor Hart and his impossible quizzes, and fuck statistics for being statistics.

  Tonight is the ugly sweater Christmas Party, and by a beautiful stroke of luck, Garrett has something or other going on all day and night that has permitted me a guilt-and-drama-free girls’ night out. I perform downtown all morning, the forbidden way, and I make nearly three hundred dollars. The weather is perfect, and downtown is swarming with generous holiday shoppers. The whole time I’m playing I keep a lookout for Garrett, expecting him to show up unexpectedly and grab me by the hair, yank me off the bench, and drag me home to punish me. I almost want him to.

  In the afternoon, I head to Goodwill with Daphne and Bethany to buy ugly sweaters. Daphne is still a bit cautious with me, has been since the day I told her to eat a hamburger, but I have apologized and she is warily trusting. Her forehead is wrinkled all the time now as though she’s always considering something very carefully. When we stop for dinner after sweater shopping, she makes a point to eat her entire salad, and when I follow her to the bathroom, she gives me a deadpan look and rolls her eyes.

  “What?” I tell her. “Girls always go to the bathroom together.”

  The three of us have such a perfect, relaxing day that by the time we arrive at the party, we’re hanging on each other as if we’re already drunk. My face is hurting from smiling, and at some point I realize I’ve forgotten to think of Garrett for the entire afternoon. Or Rome, for that matter.

  Daphne and I tip back shots while Bethany jokes that she will pray for our wayward souls, and we fall into sloppy giggles, dancing to terrible Christmas music amid a tightly packed crowd of ugly Christmas sweater-wearing students. The way I feel right now, this lightness in my chest and all around me, this almost feels like happiness.

  But then Daphne says, “What the fuck is Garrett doing here?” and my knees buckle so fast that I have to grab onto Bethany to keep from folding to the ground. He’s going to ruin this. He’s going to take away this happy feeling, and I don’t want him to. He’ll have his chance soon enough, but this night I wanted to be just for me.

  Yet I’m dying for his eyes to land on me. I want to see the predatory shift in his features, the look that says I’m about to get it.

  And then he does. He’s looking at me now, his eyes narrowing, and my heart is thumping hard with the bass beat of the music, whomping in my ears like timpani, willing him to move closer. Garrett. He shoulders his way through the crowd while Daphne looks from him to me, waiting to see where this will go. Bethany has no idea, but Daphne has been suspicious since she found me curled in bed after the night he took the belt to me. “Stay with us,” she whispers in my ear.

  Then Garrett is there by my side, smiling, that dimple of his causing my heart to grind like a tectonic plate in my chest, and god, I’m superficial as fuck. I smile back, and we embrace like friends. I can feel him holding back with his touch, can feel his awareness of the crowd. I understand that he does not want anyone to perceive us as “together.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you here!” I say.

  He grins. “Nice sweater.” That dimple, my god. And my sweater has a giant felt reindeer head jutting out of the front of it. It’s hideous.

  “You too,” I say stupidly. His sweater is black, form-fitting, with a high neck. Not ugly at all.

  “I’m going to go grab a drink,” he says. “Would any of you ladies like something?”

  I’m shocked at how cordial he is, jealous, even, of the gentle voice he’s using with my friends.

  Bethany grins. “No, thank you.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” Daphne says in a dull tone, and then: “Thanks!” shrilly, perkily, like a hammer hitting a nail. There is no missing her sarcasm.

  I close my eyes.

  But Garrett pretends not to notice and gets Daphne her beer, then hangs out with us for a while, dancing and cracking jokes and chatting up my friends like this is all very normal, as if our relationship isn’t a sick game. I remember the night before, how it felt to have him behind me while I spread myself for him, how he called me names and pinched me. He doesn’t even seem like the same person.

  “—doing the same audition as Malory?”

  Bethany is blushing. “I don’t think so. I’m not as good as Malory.”

  “I’m sure you’re very good,” Garrett says, and then he looks over at me and his eyes crinkle with the hint of a smile, but his focus drops for a moment to my body before coming back up to my eyes, and I feel the shift. To anyone else it’s imperceptible, but to me it’s like a bomb has gone off between us. His eyes have taken on a mischievous gleam.

  “Come talk to me for a second?” he asks, holding out his hand.

  Bethany grins, and Daphne rolls her eyes.

  I swallow hard and reach for him.

  Garrett leads me to a small balcony off the apartment living area. We’re three floors up, and with the breeze it’s quite cold. I cross my arms and shrug my shoulders up around my ears to brace myself against the chill. A few smokers are out here too, talking and laughing as they exhale plumes of white smoke into the night.

  Garrett leans in so we’re only inches apart. “I want you to come home with me.” His voice is low and seductive.

  I lick my lips. “Now? We haven’t been here very long, and it’s been ages since I had a girls’ night.” I stare at him imploringly.

  His hand slides along my waist, barely touching me. “I understand that, but I want you to come with me. Right now.”

  “Garrett, I…I don’t think I can do that to my friends. It wouldn’t be right.” I don’t know where the courage has come from; maybe it’s because I know I’m capable of betraying him. Maybe it’s because I feel genuine loyalty to my friends, or maybe I’m just tipsy enough to defy him. Whatever the cause, I am determined. I take a step back.

  He steps with me, and then his mouth is at my ear. “You’re impossible not to want,” he whispers. “I can’t stand here and look at you and not want to fuck you. Come home with me.”

  I close my eyes. My knees are trying to buckle again. I hate how much power he has over me, and yet…I don’t hate it. I like it. I want it. But I won’t leave my friends, not this time. Just this once, for this one little thing, I want to take a stand. “You know I want to, Garrett, but—”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “I’ll meet you afterward, okay? Give me another hour—”

  “It’s now or never, Malory.” He leans back so he can look me directly in the eyes, and in his gaze I see all that he wants to do to me, but I also see my secret reflected back at me—the delicious secret that Garrett is not the only one who can make me tremble with lust. I sin
g a silent song of gratitude to Rome, even though what he did to me was nothing out of the ordinary for him. It is enough that I know it, and Garrett does not.

  Incredibly, I feel myself smirking. “I’m going to stay with my friends, Garrett. I’ll message you in an hour.”

  “No, don’t.” He steps away from me and the air between us turns to ice. “You’re right. Spend tonight with your friends.”

  I feel like I’m falling. He is telling me I’m right, encouraging me to do what I want to do, but I know this is an ominous sign. “Okay,” I say, resolute, and I watch him walk away, open the sliding glass door, and disappear into the party.

  Back inside, I try to enjoy the time with my friends, but I can no longer smile. A crawling-insect feeling has taken over my insides. I drink a few more beers, we dance, and we run into some other kids from the music school and chat about how finals went and our Christmas break plans. Of course I have no plans besides hanging out with Liza at the trailer and practicing downtown to earn as much money as possible before classes start again. Plus, my Aspen audition is two weeks after we return, so I’ll need every spare moment to practice.

  I’m sitting on the arm of a sofa talking with Bethany about that very audition when I catch Garrett’s face again, out of the corner of my eye. He’s still here? My gaze traces the length of his arm, all the way down to his hand. It has another hand in it. Oh god. She’s beautiful, much more beautiful than me, and opposite in every way possible: white-blonde hair, petite and curvy, breasts exploding out of a low-cut pink sweater adorned with festive sequins. Her face is heavily made-up, with false eyelashes and heavy lip gloss. Even I want to fuck her. And I know Garrett does too, because as he opens the front door to the apartment to lead his prize away, he looks at me and winks.

  The same jealous wildfire I felt over Rome consumes me again, but now it is layered with humiliation. I bite the insides of my cheeks and glare down at the floor, trying to hold myself together, but I want to jump up and scream and kick holes in the wall.

  Bethany’s jaw is sagging. Daphne, beside me, hooks an arm around my shoulder. “Forget him. He’s a fucking asshole.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Bethany drives us back after another couple hours of partying, hours I spent gritting my teeth and attempting to smile. That wink—that wink! The whole rest of the night I couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t forget it. So, I drank…a lot, and when we get back to the dorm at two in the morning, I do a very stupid thing.

  While Daphne is in the bathroom down the hall, I slip out of the dorm and walk to Garrett’s. I’m in a panic, crazy. I know it is wrong to go to him, now of all times, even through my hazy drunken thoughts I know this is a terrible idea, and what am I going to do once I get to his door, anyway? I have no clue. But my feet are carrying me to him without my permission, and a few minutes later I’m standing out in his yard shivering in the freezing night.

  All is dark. No sputtering lights from the TV. No blond bombshell getting herself off in the front picture window. I stand there hyperventilating, trying to make myself turn around and go back to my dorm, but I’m sick, so damn sick in the head, I can’t do it—can’t do the sane thing.

  Before I know it I’m rapping my knuckles against his door. And there is no answer, no answer, no answer, and my world is spinning because I need an answer I will fucking lose it if I don’t get an answer, I don’t fucking care, so I’m rapping and rapping, and then I’m banging with my fists like a lunatic: Motherfucker you come to this door, you terrible fucked-up motherfucker, and I think I might actually be yelling these things out loud, my psycho drunk-girl voice shattering the stillness of the night.

  Then I hear feet clumping toward the door, and I’m so very glad that yes, finally, I’ll see his face, but oh, fuck, what have I done, he’s going to be pissed, isn’t he, or maybe he won’t be. Maybe he’ll pull me inside and fuck me after all. Maybe he’s done with her and he’ll be glad to see me and he’ll shove me down and spread me and make me beg for him. Maybe?

  The door swings open and I take a step back, chest heaving with trepidation. Come on, Garrett, yank me inside, baby—tell me what a whore I am, come on.

  He comes at me fast, clamps a hand around my throat and for a second I relax because I think he’s going to pull me to him, but no, he’s carrying me down the steps and around the house, and even though I can’t breathe, even though it hurts, his hands are on me and that makes me feel important…special. Why, god, why do I like this?

  We are in the shadows now, under the carport. He slams me into the side of the house and my head cracks against the siding, shocking me awake. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is not good.

  “Don’t you ever come here uninvited, you nasty little cunt. Do you fucking hear me?”

  His fingers are so tight around my throat I cannot even nod.

  “You’re a fucking plaything.”

  I begin to cry.

  “You are nothing. You will come when I call you and only when I call you.”

  Tears run down my face as I absorb his words, as I comprehend what I have done—I have let him in and now he’s stuck in my brain, feeding on me like a parasite. And I can’t get him out. I’m really fucked now, I am, because even with his hand around my throat my knees go soft at the thought of his voice calling me to him. I know I’ll come to him when he calls. I’ll do whatever he wants.

  He releases me and I slide down the wall, gasping at the frigid air.

  “Now go home,” he says. “We’ll discuss this when you get back from break.”

  I nod, raising my eyes to him, shaking with the knowledge that I should not be relieved that he wants to discuss anything with me, ever. Why am I not running from this man?

  “And while you’re away,” he says, taking my chin gently between his thumb and index finger, “I want you to remember all the times I made you come even when you didn’t want to. Remember how much you love being my dirty little whore.”

  “You’re sick, Garrett. You’re really sick.” My words come out as choked sobs.

  “And you’re even sicker for loving it so much, aren’t you?” He puts a hand between my legs and rubs me roughly. “Honestly, who gets wet over this shit?” He laughs.

  I’m crying harder now, sobbing, because I know he’s right. He keeps his hand between my legs, though, manhandles me, leans in to kiss me, his tongue slithering into my mouth like a snake, pulling at me, enticing me, ensnaring me, and we’re in the shadows, he could fuck me right here and no one would see—but he stops and pulls away.

  I can still see his smile in the darkness.

  And I know why he’s smiling. I should have known right away, the way he flew out the front door at me. “That girl from the party’s still here, isn’t she?” My voice is tiny, squashed with the burden of understanding.

  “I’m not finished with her. Now go home.”

  I’m choking with shame, with disgust for myself. “Okay.” I turn and trudge back toward the dorm, somehow managing not to look back as Garrett goes inside and shuts the door.

  * * *

  I’ve got plenty of stupid left in me, so I take the elevator to Rome’s floor. The world is wobbling a lot less than before; Garrett’s hand around my throat must have sobered me up some. I need…something. A friend. A warm body. Tenderness.

  Someone who will let me use him.

  I knock lightly, hoping against hope that he’s awake.

  I’m leaning my forehead on the cool doorframe outside Rome’s room when the door creaks quietly open and Rome emerges, shirtless and squinting in the light of the hallway. “Damn, girl, it’s like three in the morning. What the fuck happened to you?”

  I shake my head. I’ve got my arms crossed over my chest and I’m shivering, but not from the cold.

  He sighs and takes me gently by the elbow, pulls me into his room.

  “Your roommate?” I whisper, searching for the shape of a man in the dark.

  “Out. He’s got a girlfriend on the fifth floor he s
tays with all the time.”

  I shuffle in behind Rome, afraid I’ll trip on something, until my knee bumps the mattress. Rome lies down in his bed and pulls me down with him like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. I nuzzle into his chest with my arms still crossed over me, as if that bit of barrier will be enough not to give Rome the wrong idea. I don’t want him; I just want somebody. I just need someone who will touch me without hurting me.

  “You gonna tell me what happened?”

  “I went over there. Drunk. I’m fucking stupid.”

  “He didn’t like that, huh?”

  “He had a girl there.” My heart pounds in my ears as I remember Garrett pulling the blond with him out of the party. The wink. The taunting smile. And I still went after him, like a dumb fucking idiot.

  “I’m sorry he hurt you, Malory.” His voice is low and gravelly. He brushes a strand of hair away from my face.

  Remember all the times I made you come even when you didn’t want to. I cringe at the memory of Garrett’s hateful words as surely as if he’s just now spoken them into my ear.

  My hands are against Rome’s bare chest, though I don’t remember putting them there, and his breathing is slowing like he’s falling asleep. No, not yet, please. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. I move to press my lips against his—I want him to touch me again, like before. He is a counterweight to Garrett; he can balance me out.

  But he shrinks from me. “You’re drunk, Malory.”

  “I was earlier—not anymore.”

  “I still smell the liquor on your breath. I don’t do that shit.”

  I am drunk, he’s right. And now I’ve been rejected twice in one day and on top of it I am one of those crazy chicks who pounds on guys’ doors in the middle of the night. I’m a wreck. Crying again, and fucking hell, I can’t believe Rome puts up with me at all.

  He sighs and wraps his arms around me, hugs me tight, and I untuck my arms from between us and hug him back. He is warm and solid and safe.