by Lila Felix
“It is.”
“How do you sleep with all this noise?”
“Headphones.”
“Oh, that reminds me.” I pulled two pairs of headphones and an iPod from my backpack. We stopped and I put them in her hands.
She stared at them for a while. Shit, I’d pissed her off.
“These are yours,” she whispered.
“No, now they’re yours.”
“Why?”
I looked down deep into her almost black eyes. That clump of hair was back in her face. She never seemed to care that it was hiding her face. It bothered the hell out of me—it blocked my view. I reached out to push it from her face when I heard the voice of aggravation butt into our conversation.
“Well, what has you slummin’ down here Cal?”
Shit, it was Beth. Was she monitoring my whereabouts? She always managed to pick the most inopportune time to show up in my life. And didn’t I break up with her? I guessed I should still be polite.
“Beth, this is Havok.”
“I can see that. It’s nice to meet you Havok. What are you two up to tonight?”
“He was just walking me home. It’s right there,” she pointed upwards to a pea green painted concrete complex.
“Ok, see you later, Havok. Beth—um—bye.” I didn’t have any sweet words of parting for her.
Havok walked up the stairs and I turned to go. After a few steps an arm looped through mine and I smiled, looking to the side, thinking it was Havok. It was Jerky Face. I wretched my arm out of her hold. Out of instinct, I looked back towards Havok’s building. And just my luck she was leaned against the paint peeling rails watching as Beth made her move. But when our eyes met she turned, went into her place and closed the door. Not the way I wanted the night with her to end.
“So…did Jett tell you the great news?” Beth always wiggled her hips when she talked like everything she said was set to some fairy burlesque dance in her own head.
“Nope.” It was a lie, but I didn’t want her to think Jett gave a rat’s ass about what she told him.
“Oh, well I’ve gotten a job working nights so we can spend more time together. I gave you a break, like you asked, but now I think we’re both ready to move forward.”
What the hell did it take for this girl to get the point? I wasn’t violent towards women, but I wanted to flick this one in the forehead, with a porcelain sink.
“Look Beth,” I stopped, now I’d almost have to sprint to make it to work on time. “I didn’t ask for a break, I asked for a break up. We’re not together. I don’t care if you work my exact hours. I don’t want to spend time with you. I’m sorry to be so blunt but I thought I was clear the other day.”
She pointed in the direction of Havok’s place, “So you’re with that trash?”
Ok, the sink was now a refrigerator, “She’s not trash. Don’t you ever talk about her like that. And we’re just friends.”
“But you don’t want to be. I see that look on your face.”
“That’s really none of your business, Beth.” I walked away, satisfied with making myself clear to her.
“Ok, honey! See you later. I’ll call you.”
Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch.
My show that night was packed with callers. I also had a message from a newspaper reporter who’d caught wind of the show and wanted to write an article about it. But I thought that was a gross intrusion of Jocelyn’s privacy. And her trust was all I owned at this point.
“This is Fade, what’s your name caller?”
“I’m Janna.”
“Hi Janna, what can I do for you tonight?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about Jocelyn and I think she’s pretty stupid. That’s all anyone talks about on your show now.” If I wasn’t trying my hardest to stay professional, I would’ve hung up on her.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because if your mom is treating you like shit and some creeper is trying to pimp you out before you’ve even graduated high school—there’s like—social services and duh, the police.”
I cleared the malice out of my throat before answering, “But she’s your mom, right? And what if you’re the kind who thinks she deserves to be treated that way? Or what if you’re the kind who forgives over and over, letting people run you down? There’s no right answer for Jocelyn’s problems, Janna. I’m sure you’re not proud of every decision you’ve made in your life, right? I certainly know I’m not perfect.”
She answered by hanging up.
“Hello, next caller,” I moved on.
“Hi, this is Brina.”
“Hi Brina. What can I help you with?”
“I think Jocelyn is brave. Most of the kids I go to high school with can barely wipe their own ass without getting shit all over their hands. And yeah, her mom sucks but not all of us have the choice to just get up and leave. And just because our parents don’t treat us well, doesn’t mean we don’t love them. I think she has balls for sticking it out and waiting until she graduates.”
“Thanks Brina. I think she does too.”
Brina’s call was the last for the night about Jocelyn. I had several more callers. One whose boyfriend didn’t want to go public with their relationship. And instead of breaking up with him, she’d been hiding their relationship for months. Until she found him walking down the hall, holding hands with another girl. She’d confronted him about it and he told her it was because he was embarrassed to be seen with her. I didn’t know what was worse, the guy for thinking it was ok to treat a woman that way, or the girl for putting up with it all that time.
As the show ended, I played all the songs that I’d remembered Havok liked from my iPod. I hoped that somewhere she was listening to the same thing too.
Mr. Randy dropped me off a couple of blocks from home Wednesday night after work, technically it was Thursday morning. I shifted my backpack onto both shoulders, popped on my headphones, and buckled up for a boring walk home. But a hundred steps into my journey, I saw someone keeping pace with me and cocking his head back and forth in my direction. Before I passed by an electricity pole, I glanced over and knew exactly who he was.
Seriously, if you’re gonna be a good creeper, do not wear white pants. And if you insist on wearing them once, certainly don’t wear them again. It would be less conspicuous if he wore a sign around his neck that read: Run, I’m a pervert.
I tried to play shadow games with him. Slowing down, speeding up, taking turns and darting around various items on the sidewalk. But for a white panted mother, he sure was stealth. Finally, I just concentrated on getting home as fast as I could. And that was my biggest mistake—taking him for granted.
A hand clamped down on the back of my head, fisting my hair and jerking me backwards, causing me to land flat on my back. Everything went fuzzy for a few seconds and then I was dragged. Scrambling my feet and flailing my arms, I fought back against the kidnapper but somehow I was pulled into a van, a newer van, not like Mr. Randy’s, but a van. As the door shut, I lurched for the driver, determined not to let him get me any further from home. But the man in the passenger seat landed a blow on my mouth. The first thing I imagined was my lip, split completely in half by him hitting my new piercing. What a stupid thing to think about.
“Don’t mess up her face, Christ, he wants her untouched,” It came from the direction of the driver’s side.
“Just drive, asshole. They won’t really be interested in her face.”
What the hell were they talking about?
In the next minute, I remembered a tactic my mother had once taught me, one of the few lessons she’d taught me. But before I could, the hair puller had popped me in the eye, causing me to collapse to the other side of the cargo van. I felt the back of my head but my fingers came back clean, no blood. At least there was that. So I did what she taught me, praying to God it worked. I stuck my fingers down my throat as far as I could get them and made sure that when the chunks rose, they landed on his bleach white pan
ts.
“You bitch! That’s disgusting. What the hell is wrong with you?”
I scrambled to the back of the van and tried the back door, but it was locked with a chain through the handles. He grabbed me by my ankles and pulled me back towards him. I spit right in his face and he again repeated how nasty I was.
If he thought that was gross, he really wouldn’t like what I did next.
I threw myself on top of him and made my body relax for a few seconds—and then I peed my pants, getting it on him in the process. That’s what she’d always told me to do; use every bodily function I had to make them disgusted enough to throw me out.
“Stop the damned van. This can’t be her. He expects her to bring in profit. Jesus Christ!”
I’d never been prouder of myself in all my life.
The van screeched to a halt and I was pushed out only a few blocks away from my last stopping point, even though the trip had felt like hours. They threw me out. I knew my face was bloody so I pulled up my hood and limped home as fast as I could. There wasn’t enough time to shower before my mom got home, so I washed up as fast as I could and changed clothes, hopefully it was enough to wipe away the stench of piss and vomit. I cleaned up after myself just in time to hear my mom come in.
“Havok, what the hell happened?”
“I was jumped, thrown in a van and punched.” There was no use in candy coating that shit.
“By who?” That was her question, by who? Not, ‘are you okay’ or ‘let’s bring you to the doctor’ no, she wanted to know who.
“I have no idea, Mom. Some guy in white pants and a van. That’s all I know.”
She stepped closer but didn’t touch me, didn’t hug me or even show a dimple’s worth of sadness.
“I’m sorry but can you go somewhere else? I’ve got business tonight. And clean your face up.”
Of course she did.
“No problem.” What else could I say? I wasn’t going to beg her to help me. But I was more disappointed in her reaction than I wanted to admit. After all, there was still a small part of me that wished one day she would wake up and be my mother.
I grabbed a bag and some headphones and bee-lined for the one doorstep I knew would be vacant, the one I’d slept at before. I didn’t really remember getting there, or putting my headphones on, or going to sleep.
But the next morning, I woke up to Cal. All that time I’d been sleeping on his doorstep. The smartass quoted rug, the darkened rooms, they all belonged to him.
He’d been a savior for the next two days, feeding me and cleaning up my wounds. And the more I tried to convince myself that I didn’t need him—that I could’ve made it fine without his help, the more he proved me wrong. But I’d wasted the time with him. Even though we talked and hung out for a couple of days, I’d spent the whole time worrying about someone who didn’t give a shit about me.
It was the same person who, in times of need, was the one I was supposed to lean on.
It scared the shit out of me how effing obsessed I was about her welfare when she’d thrown me out the one time I actually needed her.
Ali was right. I equally loved and hated her for who she was and who I’d become in her wake.
And I loathed who I’d become. I hated that part of me that no matter how bad she treated me, no matter how much she shoved me aside for the next screw, the next high, I cared, worried about her and went back. I despised how much I needed her to need me.
I bet I’ve spent more minutes in a week worrying about her than she’s worried about me in my whole life.
Even so, after being cared for by the sweetest person ever to enter my life, I left—to check on her.
Now I was torn between them. Leaving Cal on that couch was hard to say the least, especially knowing that the next time I saw him could be the following day or a week from then.
Still, she called to me like a sick Siren, becoming a good mother in my head, singing a song that beckoned me until I got close and saw her for the disfigurement that she was.
There’s something seriously wrong with me.
If only Mrs. Adler could see me now—she’d have a field day.
I went inside after seeing him with her—Beth— I slunk down against the wall and cried. I cried at the look on his face as he strolled through the slums I called home, trying so hard not to look distressed. And mostly I cried for me. I felt like one effed up piece of shit who may never be ok. And Beth, it was obvious they weren’t together. He spoke to her with venom. But if he did like her, I was sure she wouldn’t leave him sleeping to go visit ‘mommy dearest’.
Something had to change.
Something had to change now.
Even one more day of this insidious, diseased life would kill me.
But simultaneously I thought of Fade and didn’t know what to do or how to proceed. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t in the flesh. He was a voice over the phone line and an image in my head that I’d made up. And his being a voice instead of a face made it easy for me to tell him everything, every call, bit by bit I’d told him my story until my bones were picked clean. More fantasy lives with imaginary people was the last thing I needed. But like this pitiful existence, I was afraid to let go. I needed that connection with someone who listened without judgment. And Cal’s face when he walked me home gave me an inkling of what his reaction would be to the truth of my pestilence. But on the other hand, Cal was real, not just a disembodied voice over a crackling phone line. And real was what I needed.
I showered and huddled down in my closet, taking an unhealthy comfort in my little piece of hell for what I wished was the last time. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t let myself listen to the soothing voice of Fade—instead, I let my ears swim in the soundtrack of Cal.
I can’t do this anymore.
I won’t do this anymore.
I saw Ali at school a couple of times after the white pantser experience, but she was now seeing the nerd turned Goth guy, Herbert, and her demeanor around me had changed. Herbert was such a bad ass Goth name—I barely contained my snicker. He should go by a nickname like Fang or Blade. Ali asked about the other night and briefly touched the almost completely faded bruise on my eye.
“Cool piercing,” Herbert said, nodding at my lip.
“Thanks.”
Ali showed a hint of jealousy and snapped back, “Hav, don’t you need to go to the other building for your super smart classes?”
“Yeah, Ali, I do. Thanks.”
It was that moment in which I realized maybe Ali and I wouldn’t always be best friends. Another sting courtesy of reality.
After school, I took a detour to his apartment. I hated waking him during the day, but didn’t think he’d mind. I knocked and rang the doorbell, hoping he was home. The door flung open and inside the threshold stood a ruffled Cal, looking still halfway in the throes of sleep.
“Havok?”
“Hey, I’m sorry to wake you. I can come back later.”
“No, come in, please.”
Walking into his place, I allowed myself to really look at him. He was wearing nothing but a pair of gray pajama pants, slung low on his hips, giving my eyes access to a body he had no business hiding. He looked down, intersecting my gaze, “See something you like?”
“Oh get over yourself. You know you’re hot.”
His eyebrows gave away his confusion, “That doesn’t sound very friendly.”
I sighed, not really knowing how to start a conversation with him about who I was and why I needed to get out. But I could guarantee that talking about his hotness was not the way.
“Can we talk?”
“Of course, take a seat. Do you want to eat?”
“Um, maybe later. Sit with me, please.”
We both sat on that couch, where we’d talked music and he’d taken care of me, where he’d let me sleep on him, where apparently I purred.
“The other night some guys tried to kidnap me. They pulled me into a van from the street while I was walk
ing home after Mr. Randy dropped me off.”
He sat up with force, “The morning you were here? Why didn’t you go to the police? Why didn’t you tell me? Jesus, Havok! And I let you go home like an idiot. What if they’d tried again?”
If he wasn’t awake before, he was really awake now.
“I don’t know. But my mom, I told her, but she just kinda didn’t care. And even though I was here, safe with you, I had to go check on her. I mostly take care of her. I don’t want to talk about why but I do. But after that night—I think I need to get away from her. Ali and the counselor at school have been telling me to for years, but I couldn’t see it clearly. It’s really sick the way I live, Cal.”
The last sentence, admitting to him what a failure at life I was, made me break down, crying again. I’d cried more since I met him than I ever had in my life. Before I knew what was happening, he pulled me closer to him and wrapped his warm arms around me, letting me cry. We stayed like that until my sobs evolved to whimpers. No words were necessary, his embrace told me everything. No judgment, no looking down on me, just concern and something deeper, something I knew nothing about.
“I’m sorry, you have to get to work.”
“I don’t care. Come on, I can get a sub. They will just play…I can get someone to cover me.”
He asked the question as he got up and began to pace the floors of his living room. He made a quick phone call in muffled tones and then came back to sit next to me.
“I don’t want to stay with Ali. They would let me, I know it, but they already have like twenty people living in their house. I don’t really have any relatives. I’m sure I can find a shelter or something”
“No way. I won’t let you stay in a shelter. Here, you can stay here.”
“No, Cal. You’ve done so much for me. I couldn’t do that. I can’t pay rent yet. I still have one more week of school.”
His posture tensed, a sense of purpose graced his features. “I don’t care. I have to pay the rent anyway. You don’t tell me much, but I see things Havok. You have these,” he ran one of his thumbs under my eyes, “circles under your eyes all the time—which means you don’t sleep much. You’re always hungry even though you’re really skinny. You have no phone and you’re always staying somewhere other than home. I don’t care if you never tell me what she did or does to you, but please, please don’t go back there. Let me help you.”