She hung her head. When she looked up she reached up to hold my face softly with her free hand. “This is the man I want.”
Her lips formed the words smoothly, enunciating each one so I would understand them the way she intended.
“You can have him. He’s been yours since you kissed him in the parking lot anyway.”
She smiled through her tears and pressed her forehead against my chin. I kissed her there, sensing a subtle shift in the air. Instead of blowing away from me, it brushed right up against me. Her arms were around me once more, clinging to me, wanting me.
It took some more time for her body to release the tenseness corded in her muscles. I waited patiently. It wasn’t as if I didn’t need this either. My own body was clenched with apprehension.
“Let’s go inside. You need to lie down.”
She nodded against me and allowed me to lead her up the porch. For the most part I got the impression that Becca did the leading. It felt strange and oddly pleasing to be the one leading her anywhere. It must be a huge effort on her part. To make it easier for her I stepped aside after opening the front door so she could enter first.
I watched her face as she took in Uma’s house. Her eyes widened and her tears dried up. She frowned at the worn furniture and ran her fingers over the green couch, digging her index finger into a small hole in the back. She walked over to the fireplace and stared at the frames there curiously. It took two seconds to recall that those were mostly pictures of me. She leaned forward and put her face right in front of one in particular I would rather she not look at.
It was my first Christmas with Uma. I was wearing a hideous pair of red pajamas with little green Christmas trees all over them. Uma had spent hours sewing them. I hadn’t cared about clothes any more than I did now. I was sitting in front of the hand-chopped tree, decorated with white bulbs and little yellow lights. I’d helped decorate it. It was my first Christmas tree. Uma had combed my hair and given me a present to open, snapping the picture just as I pulled out a Batman watch. She was trying to teach me how to tell time, so I wouldn’t have to ask anyone. She respected my desire to be self-contained. I’d lost the watch one day at the ocean, but I always remembered the relief I felt knowing I wouldn’t have to ask anyone what time it was.
Becca looked at me. “Adorable,” her lips said around her smile.
I shook my head, which only made her smile deepen.
She returned to the pictures, moving down the line. There was one of me and Kent during our high school graduation. Our caps and gowns were white and Kent was grinning like an idiot while I glared at the camera. My last week of high school had been torture. I’d been dumped the night before by Jules Gonzalez. She was a partially deaf transfer student who lost her hearing in her left ear after a firecracker incident. She’d admitted she used me to make her ex jealous. She never wanted me either.
The next image Becca examined was of the time Uma took me camping near Lake Kissimmee when I was probably eleven. She made me take it with her. I had to admit it wasn’t a bad picture, as far as pictures go. It was just me and her and the clear blue water with the night stars. There were no bullies or awful memories. It was like she knew I needed it at the time.
Becca picked that one up, took it with her, and sat on the wooden coffee table. As she examined it she traced my face, particularly my eyes. I went to stand beside her, staring at the awkward, nerdy eleven-year-old me. I’d been unbearably gawky, all long arms and legs. I suppose I wasn’t any different now. I’d just grown into my awkwardness the way one grew into anything.
When she lifted her head I watched her mouth. “You look so sad.”
“I was sad.”
“I want to make you happy. I want to take a picture together and I want you to be so damn happy in it everyone who looks at it will know it too.”
I pressed my forehead against hers, fearing that kind of happiness was a shot in the dark. All I wanted was for her to stay right here, with me, forever. And for my memories to go back to where they’d been hiding. Anything else felt greedy. “You already make me happy.”
She shook her head and closed her eyes. And then she stood and walked over to the mantle to return the picture to its position. I wanted to make her happy too. I wanted Becca’s eyes to shine gold and for her to never be afraid again.
“I’m hurting you,” she mouthed. “I don’t want to do that to you.” Her lips continued to move. Her admission got lost. She was talking too fast for me to pick up on most of what she was saying. But I had a feeling she wasn’t saying this for me. She was saying it for herself. I let her talk, searching for words I might understand. “You deserve to come first. I’m not good enough for you. I want you. Afraid. My father. On my own. Lying to myself…”
When she’d finished she hung her head and put her face in her hands. Neither of us was thinking clearly right now. Too much fear and not enough sleep were trapping us in a vicious cycle. We couldn’t see past our present because our present was stuck in the past.
I got up, grabbed her hand, and pulled her over to the ladder that led up to my loft. She looked at it curiously. But after a nudge she began crawling up. I followed her. She stood in my loft and took in my space inside of Uma’s house.
“Sit down on the bed,” I ordered.
She obeyed. I dropped to my knees and began untying her boots. Once they were free of her feet I peeled off her socks as well, stuffing them into her shoes.
“Lie back.”
She sank slowly onto her back on my bed. I stood and leaned over her as I started unbuttoning her jeans. I grabbed their waistband and slid them down her legs, revealing the fact that she had no panties on. I dropped her jeans on my floor and then went over to my bags, searching for something comfortable for her to sleep in. I found a pair of white boxers. She watched me as I slid them over her legs and covered her body. She was already wearing my black hoodie. I figured that was good enough to wear to bed.
While I took my own jeans off, she crawled up and slipped below the covers. I got in beside her. She gravitated toward me and me to her. I wrapped her in my arms so her back was to my chest and her ass was nestled snugly against my groin. I entangled our legs together and then burrowed my face in her hair.
“You’re not hurting me, Becca. You’re the only thing in my life holding me together. You’re not good enough for me? Are you crazy, baby? It’s the other way around. I’m not even close to the guy you deserve.” She tried to rotate in my arms so she could see my face, but I held her tighter, keeping her in place. “No. It’s the truth. I’m afraid too. I’m afraid you’re going to wake up and realize I’m worthless just like my mother did. I’m terrified of losing you the way I lost her. I want you too. You’re not on your own anymore. You’re strong. You’re tough. You did it. You survived. Now let me take some of the slack. We can survive together. We can do this. I know we can.” I hid my face deeper in her hair. Becca was my new shell. “Now go to sleep, Becca.”
Again she struggled, wanting me to see her mouth. I didn’t want to see her mouth. I wanted her to sleep in my arms and accept that this was where she belonged.
Eventually she gave up. It took a long time for her to fall asleep. I waited, breathing in the intoxicating smell of her hair, feeling her body rise softly with each breath. I didn’t fall asleep until she did.
Until I knew she gave up fighting her fears and fell asleep in my arms.
Chapter Seventeen
Becca
My senses came into focus slowly, rebooting themselves from the damage they suffered the night before and this morning.
My entire body felt weighted down and my thoughts were disjointed, throwing images at me in the wrong order. I was little, on my own. I was in James’s arms, being protected. I was driving, anxious. I was falling asleep in James’s bed, peaceful.
My hearing picked up on the sound of utensils on dishes and the music of Credence Clearwater Revival. I was on a full bed just big enough for my body and the man beside me. There was a wi
ndow overhead and the light was dark. The furnishings were sparse and bland, only the bare minimum. A bed, a dresser, and a desk that had no chair. There was a backpack on the ground with male clothing spilling out. My brain caught up to me just as the man beside me tightened his grip around my body.
I didn’t want to move. At that precise second I wasn’t falling apart. I remembered just enough of my past to continue existing. I couldn’t figure out who I was because all that was required of me was to remain in my current position. And James was a man I not only wanted, but had. Why would I want to disrupt all of that by thinking of what would happen when he woke up?
I scooted my back closer to his chest, and then reached up to hold his arm around me, pulling him tight until it hurt. This was the most comforting pain I’ve ever endured.
The music increased and a female voice started singing along. It made me smile. She could turn the music up as loud as she wanted. James would never hear her. I wondered how many times she’d listened to music without him knowing. My smile fell. I also wondered how many times he’d needed someone to listen to him without them knowing.
This morning before I fell asleep he’d said something that hit me hard. “I’m afraid you’re going to wake up and realize I’m worthless just like my mother did.” How could he ever think he was worthless? It was the biggest untruth I had ever heard. It was such a horrible lie I had to struggle to defy it. He was worth everything I had to offer. It wasn’t much, but for the first time I wanted to give what I had to a man. To finally take a risk. I was going to give him the power to hurt me, to destroy me.
To leave me.
I lay in his arms and succumbed to the panic. Below, the smells of food began to reach me. Beyond my fear it smelled good. Like fried chicken and something spiced, like apples. I loved fried chicken. Whenever we had the money it was my and Rain’s comfort meal. It was greasy, indulgent, and it would last us until the next time we could eat.
The song changed to Pink Floyd and whoever was downstairs sang along.
My bladder began to slowly but surely overtake my worries. I tried to ignore it, thinking of anything other than the desire to let loose in James’s bed. I’d never been good at holding in my pee. Please myself, take care of myself, pee when I wanted, disturb whoever in the process. I was going to try not to be that girl anymore. I wouldn’t let her go completely, because that girl got me this far, but she was also too afraid to think clearly.
All she saw was what she’d lose. Not what she might gain.
So I held my bladder. I held it until my muscles were clenched and my eyes were squeezed shut.
Just when I couldn’t take it another second James mumbled something, released me, and rolled onto his back.
I bolted out of bed and scrambled for the ladder, not even bothering to ask for directions. I jumped to the floor in my bare feet and took off past the living room for the hallway I’d noticed on my way in. I opened one door, spotted a bedroom, and then closed it. The next one I opened I hit the jackpot. I slid James’s boxers down my thighs and sank down, sighing contentedly as I let go. Once I was done I took time to look around. It looked like a hippie barfed in the bathroom and decorated it in flower power. I loved it. It was like the rest of the house. Homey, unique, and colorful. It had a certain style, albeit dated. I washed my hands, pumping the large flower dispenser filled with lemon-scented soap with an amused smile.
Before I left I happened to look up, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked like shit. My face was pale and my eyes were swollen and bloodshot. My hair was a mess. I was swallowed by his hoodie. It was the only comforting thing about my appearance. I’d managed to replace his smell with my own by now.
To attempt to look more human and less like a savage, broken animal, I splashed cool water on my face. After I dried it with the floral print towel, I searched for a hair tie. Thankfully there was a drawer completely given to hair accessories. I found a simple black tie and put my hair in a tight bun. It was all I could do. I snapped off the light and left the bathroom.
Light spilled out of a swinging door that led off of the living room. The noise was coming from the room beyond. I pushed the door open an inch and peeked inside. The same woman from James’s pictures danced around the kitchen. It was the most outdated kitchen I’d ever witnessed, but it had a charm to it like the rest of the house. I wouldn’t mind cooking in it. I could imagine a young love-struck housewife cooking for her husband who was home from war. The house had an old feel, as if changing it meant losing something.
The woman wiped sweat from her brow and then bent over to open the oven. She came away with a pie. As she straightened up she spotted me. She yelped and barely managed to hold onto it.
“I’m sorry.”
She set the pie down on a pot holder on the counter and waved my apology away. “No worries. Becca, right?” She reached over and snapped off a small CD player.
James told her about me? Something about that made me self-conscious. I was suddenly highly aware of the fact that I was wearing his boxers. It probably looked like I took him upstairs, screwed his brains out, and then stole one of her hair ties. “Yes. And you’re…Uma, right? His grandmother?”
Her smile was polite and also hesitant, as if she was holding her real smile back. “That’s me. Do you know how to cook? I could use some help making the mash. I can’t leave the chicken alone frying for long. That or it’ll take a while before dinner is ready.”
“I know how to cook.” I pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped into the kitchen.
“That’s good to hear. Most girls your age don’t know how to dress, let alone cook.” She pointed to a pot of something boiling. “The parsnips are ready to be drained. The strainer’s under the toaster.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Most girls my age don’t really have to cook. Worrying about their clothes is about the extent of their concerns.” My tone was slightly bitter. It was just that those girls could have had James a long time ago. I still had to earn him. I found the toaster on the counter and opened the cupboard below it, searching through the mismatched containers and bowls until I found a metal strainer.
“Not saying I wasn’t young once myself,” she said, ignoring my bitterness.
I liked her for it instantly.
“The butter and soy milk is in the fridge. Is James still sleeping?”
My cheeks heated as I set the strainer in the sink. “We didn’t have sex,” I blurted out, and then cringed.
She chuckled. “Okay, dear. Is he sleeping or not?”
Seriously, Becca? “He’s sleeping.” I hung my head. Don’t talk again. I didn’t want his grandmother to view me as she viewed the other girls my age. I’ve never cared about what others thought. This time it mattered. There was something comfortable and warm about her. I didn’t want to embarrass James or push her warmness away.
“These parsnips are going to cook away.”
I shook off my mortification and went to the pan of boiling water.
“Potholders are in the drawer by the sugar dish.”
The dish, a white pot with the words sweet as sugar painted on it, was on the end of the countertop. I opened the drawer and pulled out two worn potholders. I grabbed the boiling parsnips and strained them. After I’d put them back in the pot, I located the unsweetened organic soy milk in the fridge and the butter in its dish beside it.
“Salt and pepper?”
“Above the sugar.”
Everything had its place, I noticed. Thankfully I didn’t have to ask where the masher was. It was in a canister full of utensils on the counter in open view. After I had what I needed, I set to mashing the boiled parsnips.
“How did you learn how to cook?”
I looked over at her. She was flipping a thigh over in the cast iron pan. Oil splashed on her hand and she wiped it off without a peep. This was my kind of woman. “Trial and error. I had to make sure my sister ate. I also wanted to make sure it was good.”
“
Is she young?”
“She’s twenty-one now.”
“Oh,” she murmured, picking up on something. “What’s her name?”
I smiled as I answered. “Raina.” My Raina.
Her head snapped up. “Raina? As in the Raina who married Kent? She’s your sister?”
I supposed it wasn’t odd for her to know that. She was a part of James’s life and in turn a part of Kent’s. “Yes…”
“Wow. Well,” she said, looking away. “Things are making sense now.”
Things weren’t making any sense to me. I poured a healthy dose of soy milk into the mash and picked up the masher to stir it in. “Have you met her?” Have you seen her? I waited for her answer desperately.
Her soft smile made me smile in return. “I’ve met her. I went to their wedding party. She’s a doll, that one. But she’s feisty as well. She can handle Kent, which can be a chore.” She laughed endearingly.
So far this woman was batting one hundred.
I cut off a large chunk of butter with the masher and mixed it into the fluffy parsnips. “I haven’t talked to her in seven months.” The admission came out in one word. I couldn’t look at her, wrought with guilt.
“Why not?”
“I don’t agree with her choice of husband.”
Uma took the chicken pieces out of the oil and set them on a brown paper bag to drain. “You don’t have to agree. You also don’t have to be right either.”
“I don’t want to be right anymore.” Honestly. What was it about this woman that made me want to spill my guts? Maybe because I suspected no judgment in her. A comforting white-haired woman who took care of the one man I was willing to take a risk on. How could a woman like that be bad?
“Then don’t be.” She placed a new batch of floured and seasoned chicken into the oil. “Has it been hard?” she guessed when I sniffed.
My damn tears were unending these days. “Uma.” I added salt through my tears. “It’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, not talking to my baby sister.”
My Vicious Demise (Demise #2) Page 24