by Rose Croft
The uneasiness that I already felt was slowly turning into nausea. Just thinking about Steve and how he behaved the other night made me want to throw up.
“I warned him to leave her alone because she was drunk, but he laughed and told me to chill because she was having fun. I threw my hands up and walked away. I sat down on the couch and watched some of the guys playing a video game. I started nodding off from the effects of the shots, but was startled awake by the guys yelling at the TV, talking smack about the game they were playing.”
As Andrew spoke, I wrapped my arms around my stomach, trying to keep myself together because I had a revolting, sinking feeling that this story was only going to get worse.
“I looked around and noticed more people, including Cassie, were lounging around in the living room watching TV. I didn’t see Amanda, and I hoped she was okay because she’d done a lot of shots. I did a quick walk through the bedrooms, checking to see if she’d passed out, but I didn’t see her. I decided to check outside, and as I crossed through the door into the front yard, out of the corner of my eye, I saw two people leaned against a car kissing. You know who they were.”
Although I already knew where this story was headed, hearing it from Andrew made it even worse, and the images from the other night were pulsing through my head, threatening to overtake my thoughts.
“I was pissed but continued walking, until I heard her moaning, ‘Stop, stop.’ When I glanced back, I saw him pushing her skirt up.”
Chills coursed through my body as Andrew spoke. My palms started to sweat and I rubbed them against my thighs, trying to do anything that would keep me from completely losing it and breaking down in front of him. Lines were getting blurred now as I felt like I was the one in the story.
“Amanda said, ‘Wait, don’t,’ and she was trying to push her skirt down. But Steve became more insistent and was saying shit like, ‘Come on, you know you want it,’ and ‘I’m so hard right now.’” My hands visibly shook as I recalled every sick moment of Steve’s attacking me: his sweaty body on mine, the sour taste of his forceful, slobbery mouth and his meaty paw trying to rip off my dress. The anxiety was rising to the point that I wanted to crawl out of my skin. “Hey, Loren, are you okay? You’re shaking.”
He had been pacing as he told his story but came over and sat down and touched my arm.
I took a deep breath and grabbed my hair and twisted it into a makeshift bun. I closed my eyes, willing myself to get it together, and nodded. “Yeah, this is really messed up. Go on.”
“I stalked over there and pulled him off her. She was barely able to stand up and lolled her head and started sinking to the ground. I reached out to help her sit down. Steve yelled that I was trying to cock-block him and that she came on to him. Luckily, I had just released her, as he shoved me hard from behind, slamming my body against the car.”
I could see the anger radiating from Andrew as he retold the story. His fingers were digging into his palms as his arms flexed, and I knew that Andrew was telling the truth because I’d seen Steve’s true colors firsthand. I knew without a doubt that whatever Andrew had done, Steve had deserved it. I wanted to hold him and soothe him, calm the rage he seemed to keep bottled up.
“I jumped up, shoved him back, and told him Amanda wasn’t in her right mind and that he was a sick fuck for taking advantage of her. He punched me in the face, and I just lost it. I tackled him and punched his face over and over. I guess I had a lot of adrenaline or rage that had built up, and it was all coming out.” I never wished someone dead, but if Andrew had told me he’d killed Steve at this point, I would’ve felt like it was justified. This was so ironic. Andrew tried to do the right thing, protecting a girl from a disastrous situation, and look where it got him. Deep down, I had known all along there was more to this story than I’d heard. I didn’t know Andrew that well, but I knew him, if that made any sense.
He began pacing around again and pinched his brows together. “I left him moaning and bleeding on the ground. I checked on Amanda, and she was slumped over snoring. I ran in the house and got Cassie and told her Amanda was passed out and that she needed to take her home. She looked at me in horror and asked me what had happened. I glanced down and noticed blood on my hands, and it was splattered all over my shirt. I looked like I’d just come from a fucking crime scene.” He laughed but it was a forced laugh. “I started getting scared and decided to get my ass home.”
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He glanced at me sideways. “In your mind I didn’t, but let’s just count the red flags in this story, okay?” He raised his eyebrows at me as he continued, “One: We were all underage, way underage, at a party drinking, and Jared’s parents weren’t home and didn’t know that a group of drunk kids would be in their house raiding their liquor. Two: Amanda’s dad was a pastor and very strict about letting her get out of the house, so she’d lied to him. Three: Steve was the star of the team and his dad was head of the sheriff’s department.”
Of course, I should’ve known better. We lived in a small, judgmental town, and every reason Andrew mentioned made the situation sound worse, and his reasoning made sense. People in this town looked at everything as black or white—no shades of gray. I already knew that if you were an all-star athlete at our pissant high school you were treated like a god. That coupled with Steve’s dad being the sheriff. His father was very influential in the community. No wonder Steve seemed to get away with murder and carried himself with a sense of entitlement. He was a depraved human being. “When you put it that way, it makes sense.”
“I didn’t want my dad to find out about the incident.”
“So, did he find out?”
He rose and paced around. “Oh, yeah, when I got kicked off the baseball team.”
“Why did you get kicked off the team?”
He had a bitter look on his face. “Apparently, Steve told everyone his version of the story—the one you heard. Looking at his face at school Monday, it seemed like a plausible story. After I saw Steve leaving with a smug look on his bruised and bandaged face, Coach called me into his office and told me I was a troublemaking piece of shit, and I was off the team. I tried to explain what happened, but he didn’t want to listen.”
“But that’s not fair. He should’ve listened to your side.” I said that, but knew how coaches operated at our school. Playing sports for several years, I wasn’t surprised that certain players got preferential treatment from coaches if they were skilled. It wasn’t fair, it even sounded shady, but that just seemed how it was with high school sports in our small town. For most people who lived there, their lives revolved around watching sports. That’s all there was around there. It was almost like watching your favorite professional team play. Sadly, most people didn’t look at an athlete’s character traits as long as their team was winning.
“He didn’t like me that much anyway because I didn’t respond to orders very well, and he was always on my ass about my attitude. I probably would’ve been kicked off the team sooner, but my dad was a big baseball booster, always helping and raising money for the team. Besides, I was expendable because I wasn’t that good, and Steve was.”
“What did your dad even say when he found out?”
“I considered not telling him because he would be so disappointed. I didn’t care that I got kicked off the team, actually. But I felt like shit letting my dad down.”
“You told him your side of the story, right?”
“Uh, not exactly.”
“Why not?”
He said quietly, “I promised Amanda I wouldn’t say anything.”
“Why would she make you do something like that? You were trying to help her.” I was shocked and somewhat angry, wondering why the hell Amanda would act like that after Andrew protected her from a potential traumatic experience.
“Can you imagine how embarrassing it would’ve been for her? She was barely allowed to get out of the house, much less go to a party and get trashed when the majori
ty of the people there were guys. She was terrified her father wouldn’t understand because she’d lied to him about going, and she didn’t want to be an embarrassment to him because of her family’s reputation in the community.” Wow. I thought pastors were supposed to be forgiving, and I was still pissed at Amanda as Andrew explained, “She was also afraid her father would go ballistic and jerk her out of school and homeschool her.”
“What happened when your dad found out?”
Andrew had been rocking back and forth on his feet, with his hands covering his cap, but leaned an arm on the bed as he slid down beside me again. “He was very upset that I wasn’t on the team anymore and wanted to know what the hell was wrong with me, and told me I wasn’t going to amount to much if I didn’t change my attitude. Then he asked me why I couldn’t be more like my brother.”
“Wow, Andrew, that’s harsh. I’m sorry.” I ran my hand over the wide expanse of his back as if it were natural that I should comfort him, something I’d wanted to do as he recounted his story. I felt him twitch slightly but press into my hand. “But, you should’ve told your dad the truth. You don’t think he would’ve believed you?” Did Andrew and his father not get along?
He rubbed his face and exhaled. “I don’t know, Loren. Yeah, I thought about telling him the truth. My dad and I don’t always see eye to eye. I’d like to think Dad would’ve stuck by me, but it didn’t seem worth the trouble. I just wanted to move on from the whole ordeal. Steve’s family carried a lot of weight in this town.” I could almost sympathize with Andrew and even Amanda when I thought about it. I wasn’t exactly shouting from the rooftops that Steve was a potential rapist. It was like a bad nightmare that I wanted to move on from, and confronting Steve would’ve just brought on a whole new set of problems.
“Anyway, after Dad calmed down, he came to my room and told me he would speak to Coach and see if he could get me back on the team. I told him there’s no way I wanted to play on that team again.”
“So, you really didn’t want your dad to talk to the coach?”
“Fuck no! That would’ve been the worst idea ever.”
“Why?”
“Having your parent talk to the coach to get back on the team? The guys on the team would’ve made fun of me if my dad did that. I would’ve looked like a pussy who needed his father to solve his problems.”
“Did your dad let it go?” I asked, feeling intensely sorry for him.
“He got angry all over again, which led me to tell him he should leave me alone and focus all his energy on grooming the perfect son, my brother. He didn’t go to the coach, though.” Andrew must have seen my somber face, and he nudged me, mimicking what I’d said earlier. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m okay now.”
I thought about John playing on the same team as Steve. How did he handle this situation? “Does your brother know about what happened?”
“Yeah, he knows. He asked me about it later.” Obviously, Andrew and John were close even though they seemed like polar opposites.
“He didn’t say anything to Steve? How did the guys treat him? The coaches?”
“Oh, they almost went at it the first day of practice in the locker room, but the coaches stepped in.” He chuckled. “I give John a hard time and he’s a pain in my ass, but he’s my brother. Let me put this in perspective: Steve’s a dickhead and I hate his guts, but I can admit he’s a great player. Your friend Bryan’s even better, and both of them may have a future in baseball. However, my brother…is the fucking future of this team. The coaches know that, the players know that, and John will make it to the majors eventually. He’s that good. He already has scouts from colleges and the pros coming to his games as a freshman. I say all this because now my brother is the one who gets favorable treatment on this team. The coach doesn’t give a shit about John being my brother, or whatever bullshit drama happened in the past, as long as John is keeping their team in the win column. And, his teammates respect him, too, because he’s badass, but he’s still my dickhead brother. Luckily, I didn’t tarnish his reputation.” Andrew wagged his eyebrows.
From the games I’d seen John play, I knew he was really good, and Andrew had bragged about his brother almost like a fanboy. I found his admission touching.
“What happened with Amanda?”
“Damn, what is this, the Spanish Inquisition? You’re asking the tough questions, trying to break me down?” He didn’t seem too upset I asked him that. I now understood Andrew’s sense of humor. “This is the best part. Since all the guys on the team and their parents had heard the story, it got back to Amanda’s dad. He took her out of the school anyway and told her to stay away from me. She did, because she wasn’t going to go against her dad. He apparently wasn’t as forgiving as he preached. And, I didn’t go to church and had questioned the whole premise of organized religion to Amanda when we talked, so maybe she bought into what her dad was saying.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, it did. It wasn’t like we were a couple. However, who knows what it would’ve led to if we could’ve hung out more.”
“Who knows?” I said trying to be nonchalant about it, but wondering if he was still thinking about her, if she’d hurt him, which was ridiculous because it happened two years ago. I shook it off. “So, you got a bad rep like Scarface, huh?”
One side of his mouth lifted at my comment. “Yeah, I guess I did.” He stood up and paced around like Al Pacino as Tony Montana.
I laughed because he had his mannerisms and voice down perfectly; it was nice to loosen the tension in the room.
He grinned at me, and when my laughter slowed down, he quoted other parts of the movie. “I always tell the truth. Even when I lie. So, say goodnight to the bad guy!”
As my giggles subsided, he sat down beside me and asked in Tony Montana’s voice, “You find me funny, Pussycat?”
I swatted him. “Stop. You’re killing me.”
“You’re so easy…to make laugh.” His voice was gentle, laced with a tenderness that caressed my skin like his thumb that was now scanning over my ear. My makeshift bun was sagging after my spastic laughing episode, and he ran his fingers lightly through my hair to untangle and smooth it out.
I closed my eyes because I loved when my mom used to brush my hair. My head tingled as my hair rose and fell where his fingers sifted, but soon my senses cried out as his touch left me hanging. Like a dog that wants you to keep petting it, I nudged his hand with my head.
“Do you like that? Would you like me to scratch behind your ears, too?” He scooted closer, this time using both hands as he played with my hair.
I sighed in bliss. “Yeah, if it feels as good as you playing with my hair.” I felt his thumbs move behind my ears and massage, and his fingers slid down my neck. “That feels good,” I moaned softly and dropped my head in pure relaxation.
His hands traveled down my neck to my shoulders, kneading my muscles. He passed over my shoulders, down my arms and back up, and my skin prickled.
“Are you cold?” he asked, his voiced unsteady. His hands hesitated.
“No.” Again, my voice sounded breathy. I was warm all right.
His palms roved up my arms and down the middle of my back. His breath seemed more labored, and I had a moment of curiosity, wondering if he was feeling as affected as I was. It seemed like we were slowly inching toward uncharted territory, but I didn’t want to stop and turn back. Not yet. Then, with the pads of his thumbs, he traced a line up and down my spine as his fingers spread and followed the motion.
I was walking a line between tranquil and stimulated. I felt him move in closer and spread his hands out toward my sides and travel up.
One minute I was about to lean back into him in ecstasy, and the next I shrieked and jumped involuntarily as he touched a sensitive spot.
“What the hell?” He gripped my shoulders, holding me in place.
I twisted my head. “I’m really ticklish in certain spots.”
Big mistake. He smiled deviously a
nd ran his hands down my sides. “Where? Here?” He poked that spot again.
“Yes!” I squealed, trying to escape.
He let up. “I’m just playing. But…there is something I need to know.” He sounded grave, like a doctor about to deliver bad news.
“What?” I looked back at him, somewhat wary of what he would say next.
“I need to count your ribs.” He pressed into my sides with the pads of his fingers, hitting each rib as he counted.
I jerked to get away, giggling. He was unmerciful in his poking, laughing too.
Finally, he ceased and our laughs subsided, I felt his arms encircle me, and he rested his chin on my shoulder with his cheek against mine. Our uneven breathing slowed as if we shared the same breath. Without any spoken words, we sat there together for several minutes. It seemed like it was the most natural thing in the world. Why did this feel so right? Did friends give massages and hold each other? I didn’t know, didn’t think so, didn’t care, but all I wanted to do was press into him, get closer, and bask in this warmth. I didn’t want to label what was happening either, but whatever it was only seemed to intensify as we spent more time together.
I thought about my mother, and how she would react if she saw us together. And, my heart sank. She was wrong about him, but I didn’t see her changing her opinion. Going back to the whole “seeing things only in black and white” issue, I needed to tell him, reassure him, reassure myself of something. “Hey, Andrew?”
I shifted my body around to face him, and he scooted back to give me space. “Yeah?” He tilted his head with a slight smile on his full, sensuous mouth.
My heart ticked a little faster “You’re not the bad guy.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.” It was only five simple words, but the meaning was profound. Mr. Lone Wolf, I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit-What-Anyone-Thinks-About-Me, had basically said he cared about my opinion. My rebel. Did I just say that? We weren’t touching anymore, but the heated stare he gave me was almost as potent as if he ran his hands across my skin. I clutched my hands together trying to keep myself from reaching out and initiating more contact. And, I realized I hadn’t even thought about Bryan.