Twisted Christmas

by Sara Cate

  “Get the hell out of my house. You’re nothing but a whore. Don’t you come back here. Don’t you ever come back here!”

  When I pull my face free, I catch him glancing at me, but he looks away again and starts to write on the board. What if he knows my story? My shame? I shift in my chair and tuck my hands in my lap. My knees bang against my desk. My heart starts to race, and I sense a panic attack coming on. I raise my hand and ask to be excused to the bathroom.

  Without really waiting for an answer, I stand and walk toward the door. Mr. Gibson notices my backpack as I pass him, and he must know I’m not coming back. His glare penetrates through me—a look I know too well. Did he mistake our stare down just minutes ago as an invitation? Does he know my story? I’m not that person anymore. I don’t ever want to be her again. I want to yell and scream that he has the wrong idea. I was stupidly lusting after the jerk behind me. My mom’s words filter through again. Maybe I am the whore my mother labeled me to be.

  Rushing out, I find the closest bathroom and hide inside a stall. I take out my phone and dial my dad, but it goes straight to voicemail.

  “Hey. It’s me. Listen, it’s not going to work out here. Please let me come home. I’ll behave. I’ll be an adult soon. You know I can take care of myself. Please call me back.”

  I hang up and rest my head against the wall, inhaling slow, deep breaths. The way Mr. Gibson looked at me brings back memories I’ve tried hard to bury. Forbidden. Unwarranted words, touches, actions I allowed to happen.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with him. Are you so desperate to get attention? You disgust me. I never want to see you again.”

  I can’t deny I was promiscuous from a young age. I had my fair share of sex, but there was never any emotion behind it. If I thought about it too much, sex was usually only an attempt to feel wanted. Seen. She was right. I was desperate. I was screaming on the inside for the tiniest form of affection, and when it finally came, there was nothing that was going to convince me to turn it down. And to get it, I allowed lines to be crossed. It’s funny how, in the end, the only thing I got was more solitude.

  I feel my forehead for a fever. The heat swimming in my belly shouldn’t be warranted. From the asshole or the unsettling attention from my teacher. All wrong. All are causing me to squeeze my eyes closed. My life was just uprooted. Old memories are throwing me off balance. My mind and body are unstable. Anyone with a dick and blazing eyes is a trigger.

  “Is this what you want, sweet girl? For me to touch you?”

  “Stop. . . stop. . . stop. . .” I mutter to myself, wiping my hands down my face. I can’t do this again. Allow the darkness in me to take over and do anything to feed its hunger. The sound of the bell rings and I push off the wall and go to wash my hands. “Pull it together,” I scold myself as I stare at my reflection in the mirror…

  The bathroom doors open, and a rush of girls walk in—my cue to get the hell out of here. I exit, immediately halting when my name is called. A wave of panic comes over me at the sound of his voice.

  “Miss Mitchell?”

  I turn to face Mr. Gibson. “Uh…yeah, that’s me.”

  “Can I have a word with you in my office?”

  I hesitate. My eyes scan the hallway, worried people are watching us. Someone will get the wrong idea. You’re a whore, just like your mom said you are. Everyone knows what you did. “Did I do something wrong?” He misinterpreted my reaction toward him and he’s going to tell on me.

  “Of course not. This way, please.” Reluctantly, I follow him down the hall, passing the asshole, his eyes filled with loathing. I can’t help but raise my hand and flip him off. Prick. I know it’s immature, but it’s my way of masking my nerves. When we get to Mr. Gibson’s office, he instructs me to take a seat and shuts the door. My body tenses at the sound of the click.

  “Is it okay if I call you Catalina?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Sure.” I hate the way my name sounds on his tongue. A feeling of unease crawls across my skin. I cross my arms over my chest and try to calm myself and focus. I won’t deny that he’s handsome. Full lips. A steely gaze. His dark hair flawlessly in place. A light gray dress shirt hugs his toned upper body. But that’s not who I am now. I’m better. I’ve learned my lesson.

  “I know you’re new.” I blink away my thoughts as he begins to speak. “I took it upon myself to review your transcripts from your prior school.”

  “Then you should know I can’t miss class, so unless I did something wrong, I need to get to English.”

  “It’s not a problem. I’ll send you with a note. Your grades in physics were slipping. With this being your last semester, you need at least a ninety percent in this class to graduate with a college-applicable GPA. Do you have college plans?”

  I shift in my seat, too embarrassed to admit I have no plans for college. If I were honest, my dad has been counting down the days ’til I turn eighteen and he isn’t financially responsible for me anymore.

  “Okay,” he says, staring at me as he takes in my silence. “Catalina—”

  “It’s just Cat. Only my parents call me by my full name.”

  “Okay, Cat. I take a lot of interest in my students and their future. As a senior, it’s your last chance to show what you can accomplish. I think there’s more to you than meets the eye.” You’re nothing but a whore. “I can see you’re uncomfortable, but I want you to know I’m only here to help.”

  I cross and uncross my legs. A strand of hair comes loose, and I tuck it behind my ear. “I’m sure you do, but you’re wasting your time on me. I don’t have the grades to get into college.”

  He shuffles my transcripts, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Not true. Grades-wise, you’re an average student. And colleges nowadays aren’t just looking for grades. They want to see what you participate in outside of the classroom—community services, charities, school events. Stuff like that can go a long way on a college application.”

  I sit forward, slowly gaining interest. “I have one semester before graduation. How much can I possibly do to make a difference? Doesn’t seem like enough time to solve world hunger.”

  Mr. Gibson laughs and sits back in his chair. “Never say never. As I said, I take an interest in all my students. I’ll help you with this class and gather up a list of local community projects you can participate in. I know the school has a bunch of fairs on their roster towards the end of the year you can volunteer at. All I ask is you apply yourself. I know a promising young woman when I see one. Don’t discount yourself, okay?”

  I’m not even sure what to say. How to respond. No one has ever invested time in me. My eyes narrow. My mood shifts from hopeful to skeptical. No one’s ever cared about me. This isn’t any different. Standing, I throw my backpack over my shoulder. “I’m not a pet project. You don’t need to go out of your way. If you’re feeling charitable, go donate to an organization or something.” I open the door and look over my shoulder. “I’m already a lost cause. But thanks.”

  The rest of the day goes by in a mindless haze. I run into old acquaintances and cringe at the questions of where I’ve been and why I’m back. Lie after lie falls so easily off my lips, by the end of the day, I don’t even remember why I’m back.

  At the last bell, everybody hustles out of school, seeming to feel the same way about high school as I do. As much as I try to avoid another awkward confrontation with Mr. Gibson, it’s impossible. I’m forced to walk past his classroom to leave the building. I steal a glance across the hall and find him searching me out. His smile is subtle, but there is something strange in the way he looks at me. His eyes are dark pools of intent. My body shivers with apprehension. This has to be all in my head. But is it? He may want to help me, but he wants to figure me out more. Too bad I’m a mystery he’ll never solve.

  I hurry outside, sliding on my winter coat and gazing around as everyone gets into cars or on busses. I refuse to ride the bus again. I reach for my phone to call Mom but hesitate. I probab
ly have a better chance of Elvis resurrecting and driving me home. Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I snuggle deeper into my jacket and prepare for a cold walk home.

  “What, does the stray not have a ride?”

  I turn toward the growly voice, rolling my eyes at his look of disdain. “Oh, look, it’s the asshole. No need for concern here. Just waiting on my boyfriend. Maybe you can stick around so he can kick your ass.” I turn my attention back to my phone, dismissing the dickhole.

  “Boyfriend, ha! I’m going to assume he’s as fake as the reason you’re back here. What was it again? Stole a car? Forced into rehab? Escaped a mental institution? Sick mom? Abducted by aliens and inseminated with their spawns?”

  “Fuck you. You don’t know anything about me.”

  He pulls keys out of his pocket and twirls them around his index finger. “I know you’re going to freeze your ass off waiting for your boyfriend. Have fun on your walk to whatever hole you’re living in.” He turns and trudges down the school stairs, disappearing into the crowd.

  God, why is he such a dick? Clearly, I’m not the only one who wasn’t loved enough as a child. A chill skates across my face and I pull my hat over my head, but it does nothing to relieve the shiver that runs through me. Knowing my only option, I shove my backpack strap farther up my shoulder, tuck my chin into the inside of my jacket, and head down the stairs for my long, cold trek home.

  Chapter 3

  Catalina

  “What the hell is going on here! You—you whore! How dare you! You can’t find someone for yourself, so you have to throw yourself at mine? Whore! You disgusting whore!”

  A loud crash slams against my closed door, rousing me awake. My body screams obscenities as I raise my head. It takes me a minute to take in my surroundings. This nightmare is still my reality. Grunting, I flip to sit up and realize I passed out in my clothes again. Shoes included. Instead of coming straight home, I took a detour to the park by our house, a place I always seemed to find solace in as a kid. If it hadn’t been for the rigid temperatures, I would have slept on the park bench. Thankfully, when I finally returned home, everyone was in bed.

  My door swings open, and my mom appears in the doorway.

  “You have school in twenty-five minutes. William will drive you since you missed the bus, but if you don’t plan on being responsible enough to get up in time, you’ll need to find another ride to school. And please, for the love of God, keep your hands to yourself.” She shuts the door, and it takes a beat to pull my eyes from where she just stood, the sting of her words taking flight in my mind.

  Keep your hands to yourself.

  I want to yell that my hands weren’t the ones doing anything, but I bite down on my lip, reining in the emotions threatening to spill out.

  “You’ve been waiting for me to give in... Tell me you’ve thought about me filling this tight little…”

  There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t feel regret. Kenneth. My mom’s boyfriend. I was wrong to egg him on. He was a weak man, and I saw an opportunity to hurt my mom the way she hurt me. And even after everything that’s happened, I know, if I could go back, I would do it all over again. Because in the end, she deserved so much more pain and betrayal. If she hadn’t come home that night, I would have let him take me in all sorts of unfathomable ways.

  I shake off the thoughts and get up. I have more significant problems today. One being having to introduce myself to Mom’s new husband and his son. Maybe my new stepbrother is cool and hates my mom too. We can gang up on her and take turns secretly spitting in her food at dinner. “Yeah, right,” I chuckle. He’s probably some dweeb like his father. Mom had never had good taste in men.

  I go through the motions of getting showered and dressed. I snoop through the bathroom cabinets, and as I figured, there’s no hint of my things anywhere. Not that I expected there to be. I snoop through all the drawers, taking in the choice of men’s care products. I use his loofah to wash my body and his shaving gel for my legs. Since we’re about to be in the same space for the next few months, I figure we might as well get used to sharing.

  When I’m dressed and ready for another day of hell, I walk past my old bedroom. The door is still closed. I debate knocking, wondering if I should introduce myself before Mom has the chance to. I’d rather be known as Cat than her whore daughter. Voices downstairs pull my attention, and I head toward the kitchen, that particular introduction averted.

  My mom is standing by the island, sipping on coffee. Her body tenses the moment she sees me. She takes a territorial step toward the man seated at the table reading the newspaper. “You took too long getting ready. You’ll have to grab breakfast at school,” she spits out.

  “Morning to you too.” I step into the kitchen. The man places his newspaper down and stands. “Well, hello there. You must be Catalina. I’m William. It’s such a pleasure to meet you finally.” He begins to step toward me, a hug in the works, and I step back, catching my mom’s scathing eyes.

  “Yeah, same. Can we go? Don’t wanna be late.”

  William nods, a smile on his face like I didn’t just rudely deny him. “Of course.” He turns to my mom and places a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Have a good day, honey. Want me to pick up dinner on my way home? We can have an easy night.” My mom’s scowl disappears, a warm smile taking its place. She nods, and he offers her another sweet kiss.

  Feeling as if I’m trespassing on their intimate moment, I turn away. The unfamiliar compassion my mom shows him stings, and I can’t bear it.

  “When you’re done making out, I’ll be outside.” I walk out the front door and lean on his car to wait. Only a minute or two passes before they walk outside. My mom’s lips thin, unable to hide the displeasure. What does she think I’m going to do? I bite my tongue from shouting that I’ll refrain from blowing her new hubby on the way to school.

  William’s soft gaze turns to me. He’s just the innocent victim here. “Ready, kiddo?”

  I nod, offering him a lame smile. Before my mom loses it and rips me away from her husband, I jump in the front seat and shut the door.

  The ride to school is quiet. William doesn’t push me to talk and changes the news radio to something more alternative. I give him the side-eye, and he laughs. “Don’t all you kids like this type of music? I didn’t want to bore with you morning stock hikes.”

  I take a moment to observe him. He’s not like Mom’s usual flings. He’s attractive, with dark hair, a gentle smile, and bright blue eyes. He’s unassuming and seemingly ordinary—not predatorial.

  “I’ve been waiting for this—for you to want this.”

  I shake off the inappropriate memory and break eye contact. “Yeah, whatever. It’s fine.” The last thing I want to do is become friends with this guy, give my mom the wrong idea, and get kicked out. Not that it matters. She’d be doing me a favor. We pull up to the school, and I throw my door open, ready to bail.

  “Did you need a ride home? I can have—”

  “No, I’m good. I’ll find a ride. See ya.” I barely look his way as I exit the car and rush toward the front entrance. Without looking back, I push through the school doors.

  I swear the day was never going to end. The last bell rings, and I gather my things to leave school. Avoiding home, I head back to the park despite the freezing temperatures. Sitting on the bench, I watch the snow fall as my mind shuffles through my ugly memories.

  My parents were liars. The worst kind. Two people who took vows of matrimony and spent most of their marriage in other people’s beds. I’m not sure who cheated first, but by the time they finally divorced, both of their hands were so filthy, they couldn’t try to hide the soiled secret lives they lived.

  And they wonder why I have issues.

  In the beginning, they hid how unhappy they were. My five-year-old brain didn’t think anything of it when Dad would walk the babysitters home personally, taking a detour through the garage late at night. My six-year-old brain didn’t bat an eye when only one
man at a time would come over for Mom’s “book club.” The older I got, the more I saw the writing on the wall. The bullshit PTA gatherings. The late-night meetings. The foul things I learned my dad enjoyed while his little flavor of the week moaned dirty shit under her stuffed mouth while sucking him down her throat. I lost count of who was worse. If it wasn’t one, it was the other.

  By the time I hit high school, they finally called it quits. My dad ran off with a young blonde from the tanning salon, and my mom packed up his things and had divorce papers ready for him to sign when he returned home.

  I stayed with my mom. Not that I had a choice. My dad was nowhere to be found. Can’t really live with a parent when they’re jet-setting around the world with their shiny new toy. Not that I cared. I was over both my parents and their antics. I just wanted to finish school and be gone. Leave this shitty town and never look back.

  That was my plan—until I fucked everything up. Or she did. No one’s hands were clean anymore.

  The memories suck me under. By the time I resurface, the moon is high in the sky. I missed dinner again. When I get home, Mom is pissed. William acts worried, but he doesn’t even know me. Why would he care?

  “Are you okay, kiddo? Where have you been?”

  “None of your business.” I barely feel my toes as I kick off my boots and start up the stairs.

  Mom catches the back of my shirt and tugs me back, almost causing me to slip. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? You apologize.” I whip around in time for her hand to sweep across my face. “You will show him some respect.”

  “Olivia, please.” William tries to intervene.