I Am Me

by Kai Strand

  I like that he doesn’t want to share our dinner with a cast of LP’s who’s who. I also like that his eyes rove my face and hair, shoulders and hands during the entire meal. His appreciation makes me feel so real. Valid. Not like Lola—the girl on the fringe of popularity—but Lola, 100% center of his attention. Our conversation flows easily, and I spontaneously clutch his hand across the table a couple times when he makes me laugh. I really want to be touching him the whole time, but that’s a new thing for me and it seems like I’d come off as clingy.

  I’m almost sad when it’s time to go to the dance. Almost. I’m vain enough to want to show off my awesome dress, the unique and amazing choker and, well, us—as a couple. We arrive about twenty minutes after the dance officially started, so there is still a line at the check-in and for pictures. I consider not getting pictures, eager to find Cyn, but I peek into the ballroom and scan the crowd to see she isn’t there yet anyway, so we go ahead and stand in line for pictures.

  Cyn still hasn’t arrived by the time we get into the dance, so I text her. Where are you?

  She texts back that her dress was a success and now she has to get ready again, but they should be there soon enough. I cringe at my screen.

  “Everything okay?” Rome asks.

  I smile and shove my phone into my clutch. “Yep. Cyn and Rick should be here soon.”

  “Want to dance?”

  “I’d love to.”

  We end up bouncing around with a large group of the popular kids, singing loudly and off key. The d.j. slows it down every fifth song or so. After the first one, when Rome molds me to him, I wish we’d get more slow dances. Finally, we escape the group and stumble into the main hall again in search of something to drink. I fan myself with my hand, but it barely helps.

  Rome traps me against the wall and gently tugs on a wispy curl of hair artfully escaping my up-do. “God, Lola. You’re driving me crazy.”

  His passion is exciting, but also kind of scary. It’s like he gets more aggressive as the night progresses. He nuzzles my neck and I lean away, worried he’s going to ruin the choker. It won’t last long as it is, I don’t want him mauling it. He squints at me, but I can’t tell if it’s in frustration or if he’s just checking my mood. Regardless, I need to cool him down.

  I squirm out of his grasp and away from the wall. “I really need some water. You want one?”

  “I’ll get them.” He taps the end of my nose and saunters off toward the bar.

  I slip into the bathroom, wishing I had my phone so I could check on Cyn. Did they end up falling back into bed again? I scrunch my nose, bothered by the fact that Cyn and Rick seem to do nothing but drink and have sex. I don’t understand why Cyn wouldn’t want a more fulfilling relationship.

  To cool myself down, I wash my hands. Swipe away wayward makeup and admire my choker, sad to see it’s starting to droop. As heated as my skin is from dancing, I’m surprised it hasn’t wilted completely.

  With slight trepidation, I exit the restroom. Rome took off his jacket shortly after we started to dance. I bite my bottom lip at the striking image he makes in his black tuxedo slacks and the all white upper half. The perfect fit of the vest shows off his long lean body. I feel like a hypocrite for ogling him but expecting him to keep control of himself. I chose this dress for a reason, but now that it has been so successful, I wonder what my true expectations were.

  What was I thinking? He’s in college. He doesn’t live at home. He can have sex whenever he wants. Doesn’t that mean he’ll expect it from me? Have I already given him the wrong idea by wearing a sexy dress?

  He spots me in his peripheral vision and walks forward to meet me, holding a bottled water in front of him. My mouth waters again. From the drink, I think.

  “Thought you ditched me.”

  “I would never!”

  He chuckles. “I’m kidding.”

  I feel him watching as I chug half the contents of the bottle and I wonder what he’s thinking or if I’d want to know what he’s thinking. Probably not.

  I stop drinking so fast, some water sloshes onto the carpet. “Look, Rome. I hope I haven’t given you the wrong idea.”

  His brow furrows. “About what?”

  I swallow, wishing I hadn’t just blurted that out loud, but thinking it’s best to just clear the air. “I don’t sleep with guys. I’m not…” I was going to say like Cyn, but I stop myself. “I just don’t.”

  He stares at me, his expression surprisingly blank. Finally, he smirks. “I can respect that.” He lets out a breath that sounds sort of frustrated or sad maybe. “I hope you didn’t think I expected it. I mean just because…”

  Now he’s blushing and looking around like he wants to make sure we’re alone. “Just because I think you’re sexy as hell, doesn’t mean I expect you to sleep with me.”

  I want to feel relief, but I’m mostly embarrassed and nervous to be having this discussion. And I’m the one who started it.

  He leans forward and makes sure I’m looking at him. “You know that, right? That I would never expect it.”

  Finally, the relief I wanted floods into me and I smile. I nod, well, it’s more like I’m nodding and shaking my head at the same time. “Thanks, Rome. I just…suddenly…well, thanks.”

  He leans forward and kisses my forehead. “God. You are so adorable.”

  I roll my eyes, because I really hate being called cute. “I can’t be sexy and adorable.”

  He steps back like I’ve shocked him. “Who says?”

  “Well, I do. Sexy is, I don’t know, vixen-like, I guess. Adorable is cute. Vixen’s are never cute.”

  “Oh, Lola. You are so very wrong about that.”

  He’s got that all-encompassing gaze going again, but this time I enjoy it.

  “You, my dear, are absolutely an adorable vixen.” He cups my cheek in his hand and leans forward, stopping just before his lips meet mine. “The most dangerous kind of vixen there is.”

  When his lips claim mine, I’m re-thinking my statement that I don’t want to sleep with him. As a matter of fact, aren’t we in a hotel? The thought makes me giggle and Rome pulls away.

  “Oh, you like that, do you? Feeling your power over me, aren’t you?”

  I laugh outright. “No, quite the opposite. You’re totally dangerous. We’d better get back into the ballroom before you convince me to sneak off with you into your den of iniquity.”

  His mouth drops open in mock shock, but his eyes sparkle with mirth, so I know he knows I’m kidding.

  “Besides, I want to check on Cyn and make sure they’re okay. It’s weird she hasn’t shown up.”

  Chapter 15

  When we walk back into the ballroom, I have to stop to make sure we re-entered the right room. There’s no music playing. Kids are clustered in groups around the room, mostly quiet, but those who are talking are whispering. They’re all staring at the same spot and as my gaze swings in that direction I hear why they’re all shocked before I see.

  “There she is. My best fucking friend. She’s fucking hot. Aren’t you, Lola bear?”

  I freeze. I can’t seem to process what I’m looking at. Cyn is standing there, yelling at me, while being cuffed by a policewoman. Rick is next to her, already cuffed. Cyn’s hair is knotted and snarled. Her make up is so smudged it looks like I’m looking at her distorted reflection in an uneven surface.

  “Lola,” Cyn shouts. “These fucking cops are fucking arresting us.”

  I shake my head at her. I don’t understand why she’s being so belligerent. Obviously, she’s drunk, but the trucker language is new. I step toward her. I scan Rick, who just looks sad and defeated cuffed next to her. I step even closer and realize that it isn’t all smudged make-up I’m seeing.

  “Did he hit you?” I yell, leaping toward Rick with my fingernails already splayed. Rome grabs me around the waist and a cop slides between Rick and me, his hand held out as if to tell me to halt. “What the hell is going on Cyn?”

  Cyn bursts int
o tears. I’m so stunned that I think I gape in disgust. I look around, sure I’ve fallen asleep and this entire night is now a nightmare. I realize Rome’s arm is wrapped around my shoulder, like he wants to pull me against him and hide the horrid scene from me.

  When the female cop stops talking in Cyn’s ear, I realize she’d been talking to Cyn the entire time she was cuffing her.

  “Is she arresting you?” I lunge forward again, only to be snared by Rome. “What’s going on?”

  Cyn’s blackened eye is swollen closed. Lipstick is smudged into a clown smile like Rick had smashed his mouth against hers and she didn’t fix the smearing. My imagination is going wild and I want to follow.

  “Cyn, tell me what happened. Did he hit you?”

  “I need a lawyer,” she sobs. “Call my dad. Not my mom!”

  The policewoman yanks her toward the door and Cyn trips, but gains her feet again, tottering uncharacteristically on her heels. When the woman moves her, I notice several tears in Cyn’s dress. Along the seams. Her pale skin glows between the layers of forest green. But it also reveals more bruising.

  “You asshole,” I yell, struggling to break free of Rome and get to Rick.

  Finally, as Rick is led away, he looks at me. “She started it, Lola.”

  I fight with everything I have to get at him, but Rome’s arms are still wrapped around my waist from behind. He finally picks me up and spins me away from Rick.

  “Call my dad, Lola.” Cyn yells one last time. And then I understand why her dad and not her mom and my stomach lurches. I buck forward in Rome’s grasp, but this time I’m not trying to get free, this time I’m trying not to vomit.

  Rome sets me on the ground and turns me to face him. He wraps me so completely in his arms I feel shielded from prying eyes. I know everybody has to be looking at us now that the main event has left the room.

  I clutch my fingers around the edges of his vest as if I could pull myself more completely into him. I bury my face into his chest, chanting, “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

  I hear someone say, “Here you go, man,” to Rome just before he wraps his Tuxedo jacket around me.

  “Let’s go, Lola,” he whispers.

  And now I’m sitting on the edge of my bed.

  I know I had to have participated in the act of leaving the building. I had to walk at least. But I don’t remember any of it. Somehow, we ended up in my bedroom. I’m barefoot, sitting on my bed, and Rome is tucking a blanket around my legs.

  “Did you grab my purse?”

  He’s so startled by my voice that he actually jumps. His face lights with a relieved smile and our gazes meet. “There you are. God, you scared me.”

  He sits on the bed next to me and runs a hand over my cheek and down my arm. “Yeah, I grabbed it.”

  “I need my phone.” My stomach lurches again at the thought of calling Cyn’s dad.

  Rome looks around the room, his expression a bit lost until he spots my purse on the dresser. He grabs it and hands it to me. I stare at it like it’s a bomb.

  “Do you want some water or anything?” he asks.

  I shake my head, then flip the clasp up and reach inside for my phone. It’s strange how my phone suddenly feels like a dangerous object. I wrinkle my nose and open the contacts app. For a second, I can’t remember Cyn’s dad’s name. I almost panic thinking I’m going to let my best friend down because I have to call her mom instead. But then it comes to me and I scroll through until I find it and hit the call button.

  I put the phone near my ear, but not against it, like it’s contaminated. I hear it ring. Once. Twice. Halfway through the third ring a gruff voice answers, “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Balize, this is Lola Renaldi. A friend of Cynthia’s. Cynthia has been arrested and needs your help.”

  He barks a cruel laugh. “My help. That’s rich.”

  “She was taken in for assault, Mr. Balize. She needs your expertise.”

  A long stretch of silence follows. Finally. “Where is she?”

  I tell him, and we end the call. When I finally look at Rome again, his expression is full of understanding and sadness.

  “Wow, Lola. I’m sorry. I thought. I kinda thought she had everything, you know? She sure puts on a good show.”

  “Yeah, she has everything alright. Including an asshole of a father, who can’t keep his fists to himself.”

  “Why did she want you to call him?”

  “He’s got great lawyers. He’s never once been convicted. Her mom’s broken ribs? Nope. Shattered pelvis? Nope. Cyn’s broken arm?”

  Rome clutches the bedspread and folds forward like I’d gut punched him.

  “Nope.” Tears trace down my cheeks, but I think they might be angry tears more than anything else. “His lawyers will keep her record clean. But this will just open the door for her dad again.”

  “She’s seventeen, right? Surely he wouldn’t…”

  I can’t look at Rome. I have no idea what Mr. Balize can or can’t do. Their relationship is a part of Cyn that I’ve never been able to understand. His hold over her. Her never-ending desire to please and impress him. I’d like to think that Cyn is older, wiser, stronger, but I know she’s a mess. She needs counseling. She needs to get away from her screwed up parents.

  “She’s eighteen,” I whisper.

  Thinking of my own screwed up parents sends an unexpected wave of appreciation through me. I’ve always felt guilty for having a better kind of screwed up family than Cyn. I look at Rome, whose mom brought his gloves to the football game for him and clutch his hand. “Thank you.”

  He tries to smile, but still looks green around the gills. My appreciation swells to something dangerously close to love, but I don’t think this horrible situation is the best foundation for love to bloom from, so I ignore it.

  “Thanks for what? Shit, Lola. This is so messed up.”

  I concentrate on our joined hands because the pain that scrunched up his handsome face is threatening to make me feel things I shouldn’t. “Thanks for just getting me out of there. For not demanding an explanation.”

  We sit in silence, both of us studying our joined hands as if they are a hit television show.

  Without warning, my heart rate increases, and I find it difficult to draw a breath. “Holy crap. That was so crazy!” I want to erase the image of Cyn burned into my mind. I drop my head against the headboard. A few bobby pins dig into my scalp and I remember how I’m dressed, and the night prior to the big scene flashes through my memory. This moment, the sadness and shock, is so incongruous with our attire and intent for the evening. I feel like I’m suffocating or drowning. “Rome, will you hold me for a while?”

  He moves so fast I suspect he might have hoped I would ask. In an instant, he has vaulted over me, drawn me into his arms, and settled against my headboard with my cheek tucked against his chest. He smells like sweat and some expensive cologne. I burrow against his body heat, snaking one arm behind his back while resting my other hand over his heart. His lips press into my hair. I imagine what we look like, snuggled together, all dressed up. My fingers find the blooms of my choker. The sprig of lilac feels shorter. It must have been torn in half. I’m unreasonably saddened by it, but then realize it feels representative of the evening. Something has to have severed in Cyn’s life to cause whatever happened. I return my hand to Rome’s heart. Feel the steady beat. His heat. My body relaxes, and I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

  Chapter 16

  “The worst part was telling my mom.”

  I squeeze Cyn’s hand. We’re huddled close together on her bed. According to her mom, she’s restricted to her bedroom for the next thirty years.

  “The irony is that she was completely focused on the assault. As if those were the only possible charges to be brought against me.” Cyn sniffs and uses her shoulder to wipe a fresh tear away. I loosen my hold so Cyn can use her hand if she needs to, but she just clutches harder. I snuggle closer wishing I could squeeze the pain out of Cyn’
s damaged heart. “Like my drinking isn’t her inspiration.”

  “Have you asked if you can see someone? Maybe this time she’ll let you.”

  Cyn’s smile holds a hint of irony. “That’s the beauty of this. More than likely, part of my sentencing will be mandatory counseling. You know I’ll work that for all it’s worth.” She drops her head onto my shoulder. “But, do you really think a therapist can help me? I’m pretty screwed up you know.”

  I let my own tears fall as I feel Cyn’s soak my shirt. “I have all the confidence in the world that with the right help, you will be unstoppable.”

  There’s a knock on the door just before it swings open. Cyn’s mom steps in followed by a girl I’ve never seen before. She’s drop dead gorgeous and has a wary expression.

  Her mom doesn’t even spare a greeting. “In light of your troubles, I’ve found it necessary to employ a nanny. This is Shannon. She has moved into the room downstairs and will be responsible for making sure you don’t break your probation.”

  Cyn sits upright and slaps the comforter with both hands. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “Cynthia, I will not accept that kind of language or treatment.”

  “Mom, I’m eighteen. I’m old enough to move out on my own and you’ve hired a nanny? Plus, I’m not even on probation yet. How can I break it?”

  “I’ve been assured by your lawyer that if we go to court with this arrangement in place it will significantly help the terms of your probation.”

  Cyn is seething, but I can see that receiving lighter terms for probation is more important than fighting about the nanny.

  “So, what? Is Shannon going to change my nappies and spoon feed me?”

  “She will drive you to school and your counseling sessions. Give me your phone.” Her mom thrusts her hand out.

  Cyn’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. “Why?”

  Instead of answering, her mom curls and straightens her fingers impatiently. “I have someone coming later who will install software on your laptop and tablet to monitor your activity. You are not to have any contact with any of your friends and you are not to use the internet for anything other than school. They will alert me if they find suspicious activity. Your phone.” More finger curling.