by Lila Felix
I tried not to focus on Cal, this guy who had drummed a constant background beat in my head, and him saying he’d thought of me all week. It was in vain. Just knowing I wasn’t the only one sent a heady fever through my chest.
“Yeah, I have email. I check it all the time looking for college stuff.”
“Where are you planning to go?”
“LSU, if I can get in and I’ve kept my grades up so the state will pay for it through that new program. But I applied everywhere, just in case.”
“And what will you major in? Let me guess,” he held his hands up, “don’t tell me.”
We continued to walk while he fiddled through career choices for me. Either I was about to be really flattered or completely insulted. It didn’t matter either way. He didn’t know me. There was no way he could ever guess.
“Art History, Photography, Dairy Science.”
I scoffed, “None of those are even remotely close to me or each other for that matter. Quit screwing around. Make a real guess.”
“Something science, like chemist, botanist, biologist…”
“How did you know?”
He laughed, “I’m right? Which one?”
“Physicist.”
His eyes bugged out while he opened the door to what I assumed was our destination. Inside was a rustic, eclectic place with a bar-like feel.
“What? You don’t think a girl can be a physicist?”
“No, that’s not what I was thinking about at all,” He pulled my chair out for me as we seated ourselves.
“Well, what then,” I asked, pretending not to completely wig out at the price of this pseudo-laid back eating spot.
“I was just thinking about you in a lab coat, all those lab tables—kinda Bernadette from the Big Bang Theory mixed with bad ass Joan Jett. It’s kinda hot, I have to say.”
I didn’t answer, there was no answer for that. When did I miss the part in this friendship when we were allowed those kind of comments? And why did I like it so much? And my cheeks—they were straight up traitors, blushing like a damned love struck goober. That’s what I was—a goober.
I hid it the best I could behind the menu and thank goodness he didn’t intervene. After I was sure the blush had faded, I put it down, only to make sure he was still there.
“I’m sorry, Havok. I was just playing around. I’m firmly in the friend zone—against my will, mind you, but here nonetheless.”
“Ok. It’s just not something I’d ever do to you. It wouldn’t be anything worth having. Trust me.”
“Havok, please don’t…”
We were interrupted by the waitress, a woman who looked very tired. She bounced from foot to foot, letting each one have a break. Cal ordered a huge cheeseburger po-boy with fries and I settled for a bowl of chicken and dumplings.
He changed the subject to college after she walked away. He’d gone to LSU for a couple of years before deciding he didn’t want to continue, but now regretted his decision.
“But you have time. It’s not like you’re eighty. You can still go back.”
“Yeah, I think I want to. Tell me something about you. We always talk about me.”
I squirmed and for the few minutes he allowed me, I pretended preoccupation with my food.
“Havok, if we’re gonna be friends,” he said it like a curse, “then you’re gonna have to tell me something about yourself. If there’s things you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But come on, I’m not that bad, am I?”
Putting the spoon down with a clank, I thought about something I could tell him that might satisfy his curiosity. It was the same as trying to think up something to tell Mrs. Alder. Who knew conversations could be this terrorizing.
“There’s not much to tell. I go to school…”
“Friends?”
“Friend, singular. I have one friend named Ali but she and I try to keep a low profile. Those little bastards at school would have a field day with us, if we let them. But we don’t. Ali stays quiet and I stick to my A.P. classes. Popular kids and bullies don’t regularly take A.P. Chemistry, plus it helps with my college applications.” I shrugged after finishing my speech.
He scrunched his eyebrows together for a moment, “What would they ever pick on you about?”
I didn’t immediately answer, so he bridged the silence with his own story.
“When I was in high school the girls would befriend me just to get advice on their relationships. They’d want me to play the part of the new boyfriend to make some jock take notice. Or they’d want me to find out info for them. The whole time stringing me along with fake flirting, and constantly telling me they wished they could date someone like me—but not me. And I fell for it every single time. I’d soak up what they had to give me and then after they’d landed the jock or whoever, I was left to wring myself out and get over it.”
I should be that lucky.
“I hate those girls. The ones who talk about wanting a nice guy, one who treats them right and is nice to them but the first guy they start flirting with at a party is the asshole.”
Now it was his turn to shrug.
“It’s nothing like that for me. My Dad, well, I don’t really have one, he split before I was born and my mom…well, let’s put it this way, she should’ve never been a mother.”
Squinting, he pressed, “She doesn’t hit you or anything, right?”
“No, no, she’s not that bad. She just not the nurturing type.”
Why? Why did I continue to make excuses for her? She was a shitty mother, had been for a while now. But I did every time. I blamed myself the one time she was late for work. She couldn’t function without me. She needed me. And damn it all to hell, I needed someone to need me. I was one screwed up girl.
Moving his plate to the side, having demolished everything, he asked, “So what next? Do you have to be home by a certain time? Do you have to work tonight?”
Evading all of his questions, I answered, “I actually wanted to go do something, but you might not want to go with me.”
“Name it.”
“I want to go get my lip pierced.”
I let it sink in while I buried some of my enthusiasm. People weren’t usually so happy about the thought of pain, were they? But I needed something, something other than numbness—something to make me feel human again.
“I’ll go with you, hold your hand,” and then he winked at me.
I shot my best stink eye his way, “You’re not gonna try to talk me out of it?”
He stood, and threw money on the table and gave me a look that dared me to protest, “It’s not my body. And I’m not your boyfriend. I’ll never know the difference between kissing you with or without the piercing. Though I’m sure both would be… Let’s go.”
The funny thing was, I wanted him to object, tell me how stupid I was, how I’d ruin my face. But now all I could think of was Cal, with those pouty lips leaning down to kiss me. I’d only seen him twice but already I knew he chewed on the inside left corner of his lip and rolled it through his teeth. And every time he did, I wanted to do it for him.
I didn’t want to tell her. I’d been brazen enough today. But I thought a lip ring would look hot as hell on her. Her lips were bee-stung, in color and shape. Every time she drew the bottom one into her mouth, it emerged, redder, shinier. Though the pain of a piercing, I hated for her to go through that.
I’d decided while we sat at Jesse’s that I needed to find a way to see her more often, even if that meant losing precious sleep. Because it wasn’t until Havok trusted me that she would ever open up. I craved her trust, her openness, her freedom to tell me everything. What made her so unwilling to have anything other than friendship with me? And those jerks at her school—I’d stand them in a line and pummel them one by one for making a girl like her stand in shadows and hide from people who would probably grow up to be losers.
I needed to prove myself to her—starting with this piercing thing.
“Do you know a place?”
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“Yeah—shit!”
She grabbed me by the back of my t-shirt and pulled us both into an alley. She was in front of me, pressing me against the wall, looking around like a criminal hiding from the police. A group of girls passed the alleyway, not even glancing in our direction and she plunked her head on my chest and heaved out a breath of relief. Was she hiding me? It was dually a letdown and a compliment if she was.
She stiffened, still flush against me, realizing the position we were in. As her face rose to meet mine, her blush was in full fury and for the second time that day I knew there was more to us than friends. A clump of her hair laid across her face. Her hands were still fisted in my shirt. I took advantage of the moment, letting the palms of my hands run the line of her jaw, tracing her bottom lip with my thumb. She closed her eyes and her hips pressed into mine, closer and closer until I thought I’d burst. I pushed that blasted clump of hair out of the way and she smiled at me before remembering her claim that we were friends—I could see it all play out on her face.
“I,” she backed up and I felt like she’d taken a layer of me with her, “I’m sorry. I just…”
“You were just hiding from those girls.”
She looked down, ashamed, “Yeah, one of them knows me from school.”
“Or you were hiding me from those girls.”
“Can we just keep going?” Her face pleaded with me.
“Sure.”
There wasn’t an egotistical bone in my body, but her, hiding me from people she knew, would be a blow to anyone’s ego, no matter how big or small. But I’d let it go to just to spend more time with her. But I’d also make sure she explained herself later.
We approached the hole in the wall place, rightfully named Holes and walked in. Rob Zombie blasted through the speakers and numbers of stray teenagers littered the couches along the front of the shop—not waiting for a piercing or a tattoo, just loitering.
“What can I do you for?” The bearded man asked from behind the counter while he squirted obscene amounts of hand sanitizer on his hands.
Well, at least there’s that.
“I want a lip ring,” Havok answered, confidently.
“Alright, come on back.” He nodded his head towards the back of the shotgun shop. When we entered the room, the smell of alcohol assaulted me, but it was a good thing. At least this dump was clean. A rudimentary dentist looking chair sat in the middle with a metal table next to it, like it was ready for a root canal rather than a piercing.
Havok sat in the chair, not showing a flicker of fear. The beard explained the rules, what would happen, her part and his—hers was mostly to stay still. And as he explained the details of the piercing she flexed her hand hanging down at the side of the chair. I walked over and crouched beside her, taking that same hand in mine whether she liked it or not—for me and for her—and she let me. At that point, it seemed I was more scared than she was.
He took a while, arranging his tools of torture on the table and then he spoke something to her. I didn’t know what, except her hand clenched once—I knew it was over. I waited until she let go of my hand to rise and see the damage to her.
But there was no damage to be seen. Though swollen, it looked like it was made for her. Beard warned her to ice it and take pain medication for the next couple of days and not to touch it too much for fear of infection.
She paid for her piercing even though I protested. I insisted we go back to my apartment but she refused. I couldn’t win for losing with this girl.
“I’m staying the night with Ali tonight, again. Her mom will ice it for me and give me Tylenol or whatever.”
“Why aren’t you staying at your house?”
She tried to smile but then the pain of her piercing halted the action, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Cal. I can stay at my house, I just want to spend the night with my friend, ok? Look, I know we’re friends and all but I’ve taken care of myself for years. Don’t put yourself out. I’ll be fine. But thanks.”
The ‘thanks’ did nothing to soften the blow. She shut me down every chance she got. And something in me needed to press further, while she was so outspoken, we might as well get everything out.
“So why’d you hide me in the alley before?”
She took a long drag of humid summer air, “Look, when I was a kid, I beat up the other girls over toys. I’m not good at sharing.”
She was so obtuse about everything, I always felt the need to clarify. “So, you want me all to yourself.” I took a step towards her, somehow hoping the physical proximity would help with the precipice between us.
And just when I expected another smartass quip, she dropped her defenses and gave me truth.
“Yes, for once I want something to myself. I want something that’s mine and no one else’s. I don’t want to explain us to anyone. I don’t want to talk about you to anyone because—I’m afraid they’d steal you away. I gotta go.”
She fled the scene of the crime before I could even blink. And it was a crime scene, she’d bled out before me and I was too shell shocked to apply pressure to the wound. I just stood there like a flaming idiot. And I’d forgotten to give her my email—again.
I considered chasing after her, but it was no use. The afternoon was half over and she was probably at her destination—and I cringed thinking that someone else had the benefit of taking care of her. Especially when she was so adamantly against it.
I trudged home, never quite satisfied with our two meetings so far. She hid so much, like I was always talking to who she was on the outside, failing to delve deep enough to know her on the inside. I climbed into bed and tried to sleep but now there were two enigmas making waves in the ocean of my head. One I could see but didn’t really know—and the other I felt like I knew, but had never seen her. It was enough to drive a man apeshit.
*****
I didn’t see or hear from either one of them for days. Jocelyn didn’t call the station and Havok and her partner had apparently changed their routes, hitting the bakery before I got there. And I couldn’t help but think it had something to do with me.
Hesitantly, I was back to my routine. I’d tried to get to the bakery earlier, but it never seemed to be early enough. The show still continued to flow around callers asking about Jocelyn, comparing their own problems to hers, wondering how many more lives were lived in those conditions—right under our noses.
Jocelyn was smart. She called from a different payphone every night. There was no way I could ever track her down. It was strange to feel so close to someone I’d never met and always distant to the one I wanted to know most. And Havok—she’d gotten away without my phone number, my e-mail or giving me hers, so I had no way to get in contact with her either. I was kinda lost without either of them—without both of them.
Walking home from the station Wednesday morning, I stopped at the bakery for breakfast getting more than my fair share in a hung over type hunger frenzy. I stuffed one muffin in my mouth but as I approached my apartment, my heart fell. Havok was sitting on my stoop, and her face was pummeled. Even from ten feet away I could see the shadows across her eye and one across the corner of her mouth, crusted with blood. She crouched, huddled in a sleeping fetal position. I approached the doorway, but didn’t want to scare her. I just wanted to drop everything, gather her in my arms and make it all go away. I doubted she’d ever let me do that.
“Havok,” I asked, sitting next to her on the concrete steps. “Havok,” I had to repeat.
She opened her non-clocked eye, “Cal? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, it is my apartment. I just got off work. Mind telling me why you look like a punching bag?”
“I,” she straightened her posture, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” She began to gather a set of headphones, a dated radio and a backpack that had seen better days.
“No,” I clamped my hand down on her knee, determined not to let her go this time, “Come in. At least let me look you over even if you won’
t let me help you. I have breakfast.”
The girl was always hungry even though she was rail thin.
She looked at my white paper bag as a lion would ogle a sick zebra. “Ok,” she relented and I almost felt bad for forcing her—almost.
I unlocked the deadbolt and waved her inside. She stayed by the door and I wondered if it was because she was uncomfortable or ready to bolt.
“I can make coffee if you want. I’m assuming you don’t want to call the police.”
“Yeah, that would be great, to the coffee. No to the police. Can—can I use your bathroom?”
“The door all the way at the end of the hall.”
She nodded and as I turned to scoop grounds into the filter, I heard her make her way down the hall and shut the door gently. Had she lied to me? Did her mother really hit her and she didn’t want to tell me? Or maybe some asshole boyfriend who loved her with his fists? No, I trusted her. That couldn’t be it. But why in the hell would you not want to call the police after getting attacked? Unless she was protecting someone.
I got a skillet out and tried my best not to completely blister some eggs to go along with the muffin I’d picked up. I heard the bathroom door again and when she came back to the kitchen, I had somewhat of a decent breakfast for her. She leaned on the counter and I pushed the plate her way.
“For me?”
What kind of people had this girl been around?
“Yes, for you. Eat up. I’m gonna go grab a first aid kit. Don’t bolt, ok?”
“Ok,” and though I thought I wanted to hear her relent to me, I hated the absence of her once strong and smartass personality.
I had to move towels around and pretty much throw everything out of the cabinet to get to the white box with the red cross on the outside. Back in the kitchen, she stood, finishing off the eggs and the muffin was long ago annihilated.
“If you’re done, sit at the table.”
She sat in one of my chairs. I forced myself not to cringe at her wounds. Her left eye was forced nearly shut by the swelling and her lip would hurt to get it cleaned up. Who would punch a girl in the mouth? What sick son of a bitch…But all my anger subsided when I looked at her. She needed me calm, it looked like anger had already had its way with her. On the verge of tears, she looked ashamed, blamed, guilty. And that was when I threw all of her rules of frigidity out of the window. I grabbed the sleeves of her dingy long sleeved shirt and pulled her to me. As her face bumped my shoulder the sobs began—I thought I’d hurt her, but when I started to pull back, she fisted the sides of my own shirt and pulled me back. Lifting up out of the chair she held onto me with a desperateness that I didn’t think she possessed. We sat like that for at least fifteen minutes, her cries growing more and quieter as the time progressed.