Sins

by Lee, Nadia

  Turning my attention to Caleb, I shove a hand into his hair and yank him back. He yelps, and I get a whiff of alcohol and breath mints. One punch would be enough to knock him out, but I don’t want that. Hot blood roars in my head as the monstrous fury inside me expands until all I feel is a raging desire to make Caleb bleed. He needs to feel every bit of pain I’m about to deliver and be beaten until he can’t even crawl. Never lift a finger against Ivy or any other helpless girl again.

  My foot connects with his belly, then ribs, then his head. He goes down, and I stomp on his hands and fingers until I hear them crunch. He raises his arms to try to block my attacks, but I sneer at his pitiful attempts.

  Tears and snot cover his face as he cries and mewls with every blow to his face, chest, belly and back. I even break the man code and lodge the tip of my shoe in his testicles.

  “Stop it, you’re going to kill him!” comes a thin cry. “Do you want to go to jail for murder?”

  Murder. The word is like a bucket of ice water. I stop abruptly. Caleb’s blood covers the carpet and my shoes. I lift my head. Sue Ellen is directly in my line of sight. She’s staring, both of her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and fearful. Of me.

  She didn’t look at the boys on the floor like that. No, she watched them corner Ivy like she was about to witness something grotesque but fascinating.

  Dismissing her, I turn to Ivy. She’s pulled her dress up to cover herself. I go to the walk-in closet and find a long silk robe in black, probably Mrs. Wentworth’s. I take it and drape it over Ivy’s shoulders. She’s trembling.

  “Can you walk?” I ask.

  She nods jerkily, her eyes a little glassy. I can smell beer and some kind of hard liquor on her.

  I start to escort her out. As we walk past Sue Ellen, I stop and say in a soft voice, “I don’t generally hurt girls. But what I just did to that guy is going to look merciful compared to what I’ll do to you if I see you around the Blackwood property or anywhere near Ivy again.”

  She pulls back and swallows.

  The crowd on the first floor parts in front of us like the sea before Moses, apparently sensing my murderous mood, even if they don’t know the reason. My rage hasn’t fully dissipated, and it’s all I can do to not run back upstairs and deliver more punishment.

  I take Ivy to the Mercedes and help settle her in the passenger seat. I get behind the wheel and start driving. After a few minutes, her teeth start to chatter.

  “You okay?”

  “F-f-fine,” she manages.

  “You don’t sound okay.”

  Her fingers tighten around the robe. “Are you going to t-t-tell Aunt Margot?”

  What Caleb and his buddies did would upset Mother. On the other hand, maybe rescuing Ivy put me that much closer to earning forgiveness. That’d be nice.

  But I can’t claim I beat up Caleb and his friends purely to protect Ivy. I did it because they deserved it and because I wanted to hurt them for hurting her. I don’t care to delve deeper than that right now. It’s too messy, and I don’t need messy at the moment.

  “Do you want me to?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  “Then I won’t.”

  We come to where the road forks. Turning right would take us home. I go left.

  “What are you d-doing?” Her voice is shaky. “I…I want to go home. You can drop me off here and I can walk.”

  “In a robe and a torn dress?”

  She bites her lip, her gaze wary.

  The hole in my gut burns hotter, bitterer. What the hell does she think I’m going to do to her? Does she think I saved her from those guys just to take her to someplace desolate and rape her? Maybe she does think that badly of me. Mother obviously thinks I’m capable of just about anything.

  Bitter anger pounds in my head until my scalp throbs. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done it back at the house.”

  She gives a small, inarticulate cry and pulls back.

  Damn it. My teeth grind together. Frustration and self-recrimination hammer at me. She’s traumatized, maybe even in shock, and probably didn’t realize she was insulting me. Besides, I didn’t make the best impression today. I was rude to her in the sitting room, and I unleashed enough violence to scare any girl whose greatest physical exertion in life is playing Liszt’s études.

  I shouldn’t be so hard on her.

  Suddenly, the interior of the car feels suffocating. I lower the windows and let some air in. Although the sun’s down, the humid breeze is sweltering as the car skims along the blacktop. But at least it no longer feels like a jail cell.

  I drive to a small mound—too low to be called a hill—north of my parents’ house. It overlooks a swampy bayou. Not the best view, especially at night, but it’s quiet without prying eyes. A good place to regroup.

  I park the car. Ivy pulls the robe tighter around herself.

  Ugh. I should’ve dropped her off at the house to cower alone in her room. For some stupid reason, I thought she’d appreciate some time to pull herself together before going home. But for her, of course, home is a place of solace and comfort, not one where she has to be perfect in a quest to earn back the love she lost.

  I get out and stand by the car. The air is hot and heavy under the moss-laden trees. Did I make a mistake in coming back to Tempérane? My parents are perfectly capable of coming up with a reason why I couldn’t be in town for the TV special. My best friend Ryder’s invitation to hang out together in L.A. feels very, very tempting at the moment.

  “Open-ended, man,” he said. “Any time you want to come out, feel free.”

  With Ryder, I don’t have to be perfect and in control all the time. Although I never told him why I was banished, he understands me better than anyone because he too was exiled. Unlike me, though, he wasn’t sent away because he did anything wrong. His parents didn’t like that he and his siblings were in the way of the carefree lifestyle they wanted for themselves. So Ryder spent most of his time in Europe screwing girls and doing everything in his power to show his parents he didn’t give a fuck. I sometimes can’t decide which of us is worse off.

  I hear the car door open and shut. “I’m sorry,” Ivy says, coming around.

  I tense, forty percent relieved that she seems okay and sixty percent unhappy I have to face her. She bothers me. Mother wants me to treat her like Katherine—and stay the hell away from her—but my body doesn’t want to. There’s a part of me that likes her, and not just because she’s beautiful. She’s smart and disciplined. Nobody gets into Curtis without talent and a lot of hard work. She’s spirited and doesn’t like to lose. Contrary to the stereotypical image of a sweet, dignified classical pianist, sipping champagne and waxing poetic about the genius of Mozart and Beethoven, elite pianists are freakishly competitive. They have to be for all those auditions and competitions.

  “About what?” I say without looking at her.

  “Getting involved in all that.” She hesitates. “I shouldn’t have gone to the party or gone up to the room with the boys and…you know.”

  My head hurts. “You have it all wrong.”

  “Oh.” Her voice is tiny, like a mosquito flying over my ear.

  “Parties are fine,” I clarify.

  She nods. “Right. It’s just that they…the boys… Sue Ellen said they invited us, and it was going to be fun… I just…”

  My head throbs as the murderous urge swells in my chest again. I inhale deeply, then turn and hold her eyes. “Listen, Ivy.” I wait until her focus is one hundred percent on me. “They can look, but they can’t touch. Understand?”

  “Sure.” She says it half a beat too fast, like she’s uncomfortable.

  “What happened wasn’t your fault. Not even a little.” I don’t care if her skin’s crawling. She’s going to get it through her head one way or another. “Say it. Slowly. Like you mean it.”

  “It wasn’t my fault. I get it, Tony.”

  “Good.” I look away and lean my hip on the hood of the car.<
br />
  She lets out a soft gasp. “Your hands.”

  I look down, flexing my fingers. My knuckles are bruised and bloodied, slightly swollen. The damage is mostly from the beating I gave Caleb, but it’s not bad, considering how many times I hit him. Besides, the blood isn’t mine. “That’s what happens when you punch a few thickheaded idiots.”

  “But…you’re hurt.”

  “What would you have me do about it? Go to an ER for blood that isn’t mine?”

  “Are you sure? Shouldn’t you get checked out or something anyway?”

  Ivy is an impossibly young girl, who probably hasn’t seen anything rough or ugly in the world. “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  Okay. Maybe not impossibly young. Just three years younger than I am. Still, she seems very unworldly. Innocent. Just being around me is soiling her. She’s freaked out about a little blood, but she doesn’t see the real blood on my hands. The blood that can never be cleansed, not without Mother’s forgiveness.

  “I can’t believe I have to point this out,” I say. You may be eighteen, but you’re ridiculously naïve. “But my knuckles are nothing compared to what happened to you back there. Nothing’s broken, and the skin will heal in a few days. You, on the other hand…”

  “I’ll be more careful. You saved me, Tony.” Her gray eyes shine.

  Oh, no. No, no, no…

  I don’t want that or need that. I’m nobody’s hero. I make my voice colder and crueler than I should. “I did it because my family doesn’t need the scandal or ugly whispers, and I couldn’t let anything happen to my mother’s pride and joy. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered.” The look in her eyes doesn’t change. “You have no idea what kind of monster I am.”

  I open the car door.

  “I’m going home. Get in unless you want to spend the night out here.”

  Chapter Five

  Ivy

  Tony leads me into the house through the back door, ensuring that nobody gets a look at my rather shameful state. Although he didn’t say anything else after we talked on the bank of the bayou, just him being there was enough to help me calm down. He might not have been the epitome of tenderness, but he protected me like a medieval knight. Nobody else did that, not even Sue Ellen. He makes me feel safe just by being close.

  I don’t understand why he called himself a monster. Was it because of what I said back at the party?

  You’re going to kill him. Do you want to go to jail for murder?

  Tony’s expression was terrifying when he heard me, but I only said it because I was scared for him. I’ve never seen rage like that before. I didn’t want him to cross a line he shouldn’t, especially not over me.

  Soberer and calmer now, I can see how stupid it was for me to go up to the second floor like that. Sue Ellen said—cajoled and wheedled—that we should accept Caleb’s invitation for special drinks, but I should’ve known better than to go up or try that crazy mix of beer and soju. I’d never even heard of soju before, but Caleb said it was a Korean liquor he got on a trip to New York.

  I don’t know if there was anything else in it, but it got me tipsy so fast, the room was spinning after a few swallows. Thankfully, the spinning effect didn’t last long, and I placed the half-full glass on a table even though the boys were insisting I finish it.

  As for Sue Ellen, she had one, then stood by and watched when Caleb made his move, instead of calling for help or trying to stop him. She’s been increasingly hung up on being part of the cool crowd. It’s like she’s decided that’s what she should aim for, since getting into a conservatory isn’t happening.

  It makes me angry. Resentful. And stupid that I ever felt the slightest bit of guilt that she didn’t get into any of the elite music programs when I did. And that I let that teeny sense of regret make me do things I wouldn’t normally do to accommodate her.

  But most of all, I’m sad that my friendship with the first girl to be nice to me in Tempérane had to end this way.

  “You should put on something else,” Tony says, taking a quick look around my frilly room.

  “Okay.” My voice is still a little quaky. I clench my jaw. “Thank you.” Still quaky, but not too terrible. At least, I don’t think so.

  He nods once.

  I go into the bathroom with a long nightshirt. I wipe the makeup—which is smeared and gross—off my face and splash it with cold water. I take off the robe that smells like unfamiliar laundry soap and perfume, brush my teeth and gargle three times with extra-strong mouthwash to get rid of the taste of Caleb’s forceful kiss. Then I shower with hot water, scrubbing until my skin’s almost raw, to erase his touch.

  Bastard. Fucking asshole.

  I look down at my hands. People call them gifted. Dexterous. I clench them hard.

  It’s too bad they only know how to play perfect arpeggios, but not how to throw a killer punch like Tony. It would’ve been so satisfying to break Caleb’s nose.

  I finally turn the water off, dry myself and put on the nightshirt. It has a perky Tweety Bird on the front. Tweety was Mom’s favorite animation character, and I always feel like I’m close to her every time I wear this thing. Even though my nerves are still frayed, it helps.

  “Come on,” I whisper. I brace my palms on the edge of the double vanity. “You can get through this. It… The worst didn’t happen.”

  The worst didn’t happen. Could have, but didn’t. Ever since my parents died in the car crash, that’s been my motto. I can carry on as long as the worst doesn’t happen. Although I lost my parents, I have Aunt Margot and Uncle Lane, who provide for me in ways most would envy. Although I almost ran into a tree when I first started driving, I didn’t…and the car and tree were both fine.

  But I can’t stop shaking, and tears begin to flow. There have been other boys who tried to steal a kiss or cop a feel. I was always able to deflect them. What Caleb did was far worse—far more violating. The loud party. The closed room. The alcohol. The other boys egging him on. Sue Ellen watching.

  It was such a trap. Such a betrayal.

  I wipe at my wet cheeks. It’s stupid to cry now, when I’m safe. I couldn’t muster a single tear when that asshole grabbed me.

  Leaning against the sink, I cover my mouth with a palm. Hearing the sobs out loud would make me feel worse.

  I can’t tell Aunt Margot what happened because she’d be upset over the attack, but also disappointed that I didn’t follow her advice and put some distance between me and Sue Ellen. She’d give me the same speech she did when I was fourteen and starting to make more friends in town.

  Be careful who you let into your inner circle, Ivy. People are presumptuous and try to force their “friendship” on us, all the while feigning altruistic motives. What they really want is the things we can do for them using our money and influence. You need to figure out who is and isn’t worth your time…and distance yourself accordingly.

  When I’m finally out of tears, I stand, blow my nose and wash my face with cold water again. My eyes are swollen, my complexion blotchy, but hopefully I’ll look okay tomorrow morning. If not, I’ll just hide in my room until I can sneak down to the piano to practice. I hate to miss even a single session, because I can tell the difference.

  When I come out, Tony’s settled on the chair in front of my vanity, every light out except for the one by my bed. I falter. He doesn’t give me more than a cursory glance, but it sears me like a hot iron.

  “Feeling better?” he asks.

  “Yes. Thank you,” I say, my voice still hoarse. “Aren’t you leaving?”

  “Do you want to me to?”

  My room’s too dark…too quiet. And suddenly I hate the idea of being alone. “Not really.”

  “Okay.” Tony doesn’t move from his seat.

  I climb into the huge four-poster bed and pull the sheets all the way to my chin. “Aren’t you tired?” I ask, my voice small. After all, he traveled from Princeton today.

  “No. Go to sleep.”

&nb
sp; “You can’t just order someone to go to sleep,” I mutter, inexplicably peeved and grateful at the same time. It’s vaguely irritating that he seems to know what I need better than me, while I know almost nothing about him. Certainly not enough to know what he needs.

  He doesn’t watch me like I thought he might. His face impassive, he’s looking at his phone, probably checking some email or text.

  Having him here in the room helps. He’s like a shield, making me feel safe. And his not staring at me is even better because I don’t have to put on a brave face or pretend to be what people expect of me.

  * * *

  Anthony

  Soon, Ivy’s chest is rising and falling slowly and regularly. I quietly put a bottle of aspirin on the bathroom vanity next to her toothbrush, where she can’t miss it, along with a sticky note on the mirror, Take two with a glass of water, with an arrow pointing down.

  I start to exit her room, then stop to look at her. Her features are obscure in the dark, but she seems calm enough. Hopefully she won’t have nightmares about Caleb. I wish I could go back and resume kicking his ass. He deserves it so bad, it’s almost painful to exercise restraint.

  Come on. You need sleep.

  I leave, closing the door quietly after me, then walk down the hall until I bump into Father coming up from downstairs. He’s an imposing grizzly bear of a man. There’s a rough, almost crude quality to the way his facial features are cut, but that doesn’t diminish his presence. His shirt strains to fit his broad shoulders and thickly muscled torso. His legs are long and powerful, and he moves like a man who knows exactly what he wants in life.

  He pins me with bright green eyes. “Were you just in Ivy’s room?”

  “Yeah. Her ride ditched her, so I brought her home.” That’s the closest to the truth I can reveal. A promise not to tell Mother means not telling Father, either.

  “And she”—he searches for a word—“required you to show her to her room?”

  “No. I just thought it was the right thing to do.”

  He regards me. I do my best not to squirm under the paternal scrutiny.