Happily Ever Alpha_Until Falco

by Jesse Jacobson

  “I wish to talk, yes,” she replied. “How much longer to your house?”

  “Well, I’m not taking you to my home,” I replied.

  She froze mid-bite. She looked up at me. There was a look in her eyes—fear, uncertainty, disappointment.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “It’s someplace safe and warm,” I said, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s a homeless shelter in Franklin.”

  “No! No!” she screamed. “No shelter. We go to your house, Jackie, ok?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Irina?” I said. “I think it would be better . . .”

  “No, Jackie, no shelter. Please, Jackie. Please don’t leave me . . . again.”

  “I didn’t leave you,” I replied. “They took you away, remember?”

  She began crying uncontrollably, “Please don’t leave me, Jackie. I couldn’t take it.”

  “Ok, Irina, ok,” I said.

  Irina’s pleas took me back to a time, twenty years ago . . . I remembered everything now.

  ______________________

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ______________________

  FALCO (Jackie)

  December 19, 1998 (around twenty years ago)

  Franklin, Tn

  Irina and I sat on the gym bleachers during recess, holding hands. We were smiling at each other. She was positively glowing. We had sex again the evening before. It was the fourth time we’d made love and we were getting good at it. It had been about three months since I’d walked her home that day from the train station.

  The first time we had sex was awkward for us both. She didn’t seem to feel pain and there was no blood, but still, I didn’t know I was doing and came inside the condom within thirty seconds. The second time happened a week later. My parents were gone to a Sunday barbeque at their friends’ house. I begged to stay home, lying about needing to complete a school paper I was behind on that was due the following day.

  Irina told her foster parents she was going to the library, but she really came to my house. The sex was better the second time. We got completely naked this time and spent more than twenty minutes kissing and touching each other before intercourse. The sex lasted longer this time, probably three minutes or so.

  The third time was two weeks ago, again in my bedroom when my parents weren’t home. It was much like the second time only it lasted a several minutes longer.

  The fourth time was after school yesterday. Irina’s foster parents were at a parent-teaching conference and Irina was naked with me again, this time in her bedroom. This time we got it right. We made love for almost an hour and she had her first orgasm, ever. It came about a minute before mine.

  Ergo, the glow. She had never had an orgasm before, she told me. I had never had an orgasm either . . . well, not with another person in the room.

  Irina and I spent time with each other nearly every day since the day I walked her home from the train station. She met me in the hall at school during period changes. We sat together at lunch and recess. On weekends we’d both lie to our parents and make arrangements to meet each other. We’d go to the zoo or the park or the museum, anyplace really, and we’d always stop at the hotdog stand where I could get two Ballpark Hotdogs with dark mustard, my very favorite things to eat. I could tell she didn’t really like hotdogs, but she always insisted we stop at the stand because she knew how much I loved them.

  We’d hug, kiss, hold and touch each other whenever we could. After two weeks I’d long since lost my embarrassment about who saw us kissing or holding hands in the hall. Irina was bringing me out of my shell.

  But still, she was holding something back from me, something that made her sad. I wanted to help her but she refused to talk about it. All I knew was, it had something to do with her foster parents. She never allowed them to see me or know about me.

  It was about a week before Christmas and I had used most of my grass-cutting money to buy Irina a tiny heart necklace with our initials on the back. My parents would be so pissed if they found out I spent all my money on a present for a girl, but they’d get over it. Although our exclusivity was probably a given, I wanted to officially ask her to go steady.

  Billy and Manny ran up the bleacher steps toward us. I was happy that Billy and I made up and became friends again. He had offered a sincere apology to Irina for his actions that day at the old railroad house and she had accepted it. I was happy.

  I didn’t want to lose him. We had gotten into fights before, but never as bad as the one we had over Irina. It took a couple of weeks, but he came around. Manny was Manny. Whatever anger he felt toward me had dissipated two days after that day in the abandoned railroad ticket station.

  “Dude, are you going to the game tonight?” Billy asked.

  Billy loved football, but he never actually tried out for the team. I never really knew why.

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “Vhy don’t you go wid your friends to dah game, Jackie?” Irina asked.

  “Really? You want me to? What about you?”

  “Vell, I haf beeen invited to join Britney, Ashley and Chelsea for dah ‘summer’ party,” she said.

  “You mean a ‘slumber’ party? Where you hang out in your pajamas and stay all night?”

  “Ya,” she said, beaming. “Summer party.”

  I could see why she was so excited. This was big. After I began hanging out with Irina, we were shunned for many days, both of us, by the hoity toity group led by none other than Chi Stanton herself. My dad had always told me when it came to an allegiance, to never straddle the middle. Pick a side and stick with it, he told me. I did. I picked Irina. Little by little, Irina and I became less and less the focus of the rumor mill and before too long we were no longer being treated as though we were carrier monkeys.

  Billy and Manny were the first to accept us, and for a while the four of us were inseparable. Slowly but surely the kids who lived on the fringe of the clique, those kids not actually part of Chi’s exclusive little group, but wanted to be, began gravitating toward us, and our circle got bigger.

  Our little group, now nine or so strong, began to hang out with one another at pep rallies, football games and in the lunchroom.

  One day, Chi had a very public falling out with a girl named Ashley over Chi stealing the affections of a boy another girl named Britney was into. Until that point, Ashley and her best friend, Britney, were charter members of Club Chi. Ashley had become fed up with Chi’s backstabbing shenanigans and told her off in front of the entire group. Chi, being Chi, threw a hissy fit and made a complete ass of herself. Britney and Ashley left the group and another girl from the clique, named Chelsea, soon followed.

  Chelsea was a girl who lived two doors down from me. She was short with stringy dishwater blonde hair but had the tits of a Hooter’s waitress. She was the only other girl I had ever been as far as second base with. It had been two years earlier and was more of an experimental thing for both of us. We remained friends even though she decided I was too shy for her taste. After the fallout, it was Chelsea who first began talking to Irina, when she began eating lunch with me, Irina, Billy and Manny. Ashley and Britney soon joined our little group, still nowhere near as prestigious as Club Chi, but I never gave a shit, as long as Irina and I were together.

  Chi had managed to retain most of the rest of her group, but clearly the shine was coming off the apple.

  Chelsea developed an eye for Billy and those two looked to be well on their way to becoming an item. Manny fell head over heels in love with Ashley, but the feeling was not mutual. Poor Manny was once again kicked to the curb, seeming to be forever destined to jerking off in front of his internet monitor, watching Jenna Jameson videos.

  “I think that’s fantastic, Irina,” I told her.

  “You won’t be mad?” she asked.

  “No, I love it that you are making friends.”

  “Me too,” she said, hugging me. “For dah first time seence my parents died, I am happy ag
ain. Ees all because of you.”

  I wrapped my arm around her. She leaned in and put her head on my shoulder. I looked around the gym. No one took notice. The other kids no longer cared that the poor Russian girl and I were an item.

  “Irina!” I heard a loud, deep, male voice yell out. It was Irina’s foster dad, Mr. Cohen. He had made his way into the gym during school recess. “Get your ass down here, now!” he demanded.

  Irina gasped. Her face turned beet red, instantly. She was clearly humiliated beyond measure, as anyone would have been in that circumstance.

  “May I help you, Mr. Cohen?” Mrs. Mathers said, walking toward Irina’s angry foster dad. Mrs. Mathers was an algebra teacher and girls’ volleyball coach and assigned to monitor fourth period recess.

  Irina looked scared shitless. She jerked her hand away from mine, instantly.

  “I need to speak to my daughter, now!” Mr. Cohen barked.

  “Can’t this wait until she gets home after school?” Mrs. Mathers asked.

  “No, this can’t wait,” he snapped.

  “Mr. Cohen. Let’s take this into my office, please. Irina, would you join us, too?”

  “That little shit comes too,” the angry man barked, pointing at me. “This involves him.”

  “Mr. Falco, please join us as well,” Mrs. Mathers said.

  Irina and I stood and climbed down the bleachers, our footsteps echoing throughout the gym. The entire assembly area had turned eerily quiet as every eye in the place was on us, looking at us as though they were seeing a massive train wreck in progress, happening in slow motion before their eyes.

  I saw Irina looking about the gym, acutely aware that all eyes were on her. Although they were staring at me too, I was only worried about Irina. She had come so far, and now . . .

  I had never been in Mrs. Mathers’s gym office before. It was bright yellow and windowless, with a small metal desk in the center of the room with a single chair sitting in front of it. Mr. Cohen sat in the chair, while Irina and I stood. She put about six feet of space between us, obviously not wanting to be near me in front of her foster dad, who sat, fuming.

  “Ok, Mr. Cohen, you’ve gotten everyone’s attention,” Mrs. Mathers said. “Now tell me, what is this about?”

  He pulled something out of his jacket pocket and tossed it on the desk mat on her desk. It landed with a splat. I didn’t know what it was right away. It looked elastic.

  “Mr. Cohen!” Mrs. Mathers exclaimed, totally aghast. “This is completely inappropriate behavior.”

  I looked at it again and realized what it was. I felt the blood rushing from my face. I began to feel physically nauseous. I saw Irina gasp and begin to cry. Mr. Cohen had somehow found the condom I had worn during sex with Irina in her bedroom yesterday afternoon. The man had thrown it onto Mrs. Mathers’s desk as a tasteless justification of his anger.

  I had thought I flushed the condom down the hallway bathroom toilet that Irina used. It must have come back up and had been floating in the toilet when Mr. Cohen had found it.

  Cohen stood and slapped his hand on the desk, hard, “This piece of shit,” he began, pointing at me again, “has been fucking my underage daughter.”

  “Mr. Cohen, you will watch your language in this office or this conversation is over,” Mrs. Mathers demanded, seeming to not be the least bit intimidated by the large man looming over her desk.

  “I want to know what you are going to do about it,” he demanded.

  “Mr. Cohen, I know you are upset and disappointed, and I do not blame you for being concerned, I really don’t,” Mrs. Mathers said, “but do you know what has been going on with your daughter in this school?”

  “What are you talking about?” he boomed.

  “I mean, when Irina first showed up at this school, she was withdrawn, shy and socially awkward,” Mrs. Mathers said. “She had no friends. She sat by herself at lunch and at recess every day. When young Mr. Falco became her friend, her whole demeanor changed. She’s managed to fit in with the other students. Her grades have gone up . . .”

  “Are you justifying the fact that he’s been fucking my underaged daughter?” Cohen snarled.

  “No, of course not,” Mrs. Mathers said. “I am merely pointing out there are ways to address this issue that are more appropriate than you storming into the gym and humiliating her in front of the entire student body.”

  Cohen glared at me again, his face burning red. If his eyes had been equipped with laser vision, I’m sure I would have spontaneously exploded.

  “I want this little motherfucker arrested and expelled,” he demanded. “My daughter is underage, you know.”

  “You have pointed that out several times now, Mr. Cohen. Both of these youngsters are the same age,” she replied. “They are both underage, and I have warned you about your language.”

  “He raped her,” Cohen exclaimed. “She would never consent to that.”

  “Mr. Cohen, that is an outrageous accusation,” Mrs. Mathers hissed in anger. “They were just in the bleachers holding hands, laughing and having fun, right before you came in. That is not the behavior of a girl who has recently been raped.”

  I had to admire Mrs. Mathers. She was a strong woman. She didn’t back down an inch.

  “Are you calling me a liar?” he bellowed.

  “I’m not denying that they may have had sex. The rape accusation, however, is wholly unfounded.”

  He turned his furious stare to Irina, “You tell them,” he demanded. “Tell them you didn’t fuck that kid of your own free will.”

  Irina had been sobbing freely. I felt so sorry for her. She seemed to not hear what her foster father had said.

  “I said . . . tell her!” Cohen screamed.

  Irina had both hands placed on the side of her head. I could feel the tension building in her and now she was ready to explode.

  “Fuck you!” Irina shrieked at Cohen at the top if her lungs. “I vanted to do eet wid him. I love him. I hate you. I hate you.”

  “Let’s all calm down,” Mrs. Mathers urged.

  “Mrs. Mathers, my foster fahder touches me,” Irina barked. “I am scared to be at home. I never vant heem to touch me again.”

  “You lying little bitch!” he screamed. “We’re going home now.” He grabbed her by the arm.

  “You release her immediately,” Mrs. Mathers demanded.

  “She’s my daughter,” he protested. “I’ll do what I want.”

  “No, you will most certainly not do what you want,” she rebutted, standing her ground firmly. “Now let her go and get out of my office or I will call the police.”

  “What do you intend to do?” he demanded to know.

  “I’m going to call Child Protective Services,” she threatened.

  “There’s no need for that,” he said sharply.

  “Out, Mr. Cohen,” she snapped. “I will not ask you again.”

  He glared at her, “This is not over.”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied. “I’m afraid it is.”

  Cohen left in a huff. The rest of the afternoon was a blur for me. Mrs. Mathers separated Irina and me. My parents got called in. I saw a police car in front of the building through the window, parked alongside an official car with ‘The Department of Social Services’ emblazoned on the door.

  The next few days, a whirlwind of activity occurred. Social Services personnel questioned me about every detail of my relationship with Irina. It was frightening, humiliating and exhausting. They also asked me a lot of other questions, mostly to do with whether I ever saw Mr. Cohen touching Irina; had she told me that he was touching her; did she seem afraid to go home? I did like my father instructed me to do and answered all the questions truthfully.

  The police got their pound of flesh from me as well. Just because Mr. Cohen mentioned the ‘rape’ word, I was subjected to hours of questioning. All of it amounted to nothing, of course, because I didn’t rape her and we were the same age but being grilled by the police over it was nothing less tha
n traumatizing.

  I had totally withdrawn. I no longer hung out with Billy or Manny or anyone else for that matter. Mentally, I had checked out. My parents were worried sick.

  The entire school was buzzing about Irina and her foster dad. Cohen had been arrested that same day but was out on bond the following day. Irina had been whisked away by Social Services, I had no idea where to. We were not allowed to see or talk to each other. She never came back to our school again.

  In the ensuing weeks there were a lot of threats bandied about. I ended up speaking to lawyers, giving depositions. I began seeing Mr. Cohen lurking around, after school, watching me from his car. He undoubtedly was looking for Irina. I told my parents. My father took out a restraining order against Mr. Cohen.

  I was fifteen, and found the experience to be mortifying beyond measure, and I could only imagine what it was like for Irina. And unfortunately, all I could do was ‘imagine.’ She never came back to school. I never saw her again until that day at hobo’s palace.

  I ended up going to therapy after that. Over the next few years, I began to subconsciously repress my memories of the whole incident, and even Irina. From that day forward, I never had a relationship that lasted more than a few short months.

  ______________________

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ______________________

  FALCO

  (Present day)

  Irina had fallen asleep in the car on the ride back to my place in Brentwood. I had so many questions for her, starting with, why the hell was she homeless? I wanted to wake her up and tell her to talk to me, but she looked so exhausted, I just let her sleep.

  When we arrived outside my apartment, she was difficult to rouse. I called her name and touched her shoulder, but she pulled away and went back to sleep. I wondered how long it had been since she had slept in a safe, warm place. Even the seat of the car may have seemed like a luxury to her.

  I decided to carry her inside. When I slipped my arms under her legs and around her back. She reached out and wrapped her arms around my neck, allowing me to pick her up easily. Her head fell into place between my shoulder and neck.