“Zina?” He stands over me.
“What?” I ask before Rachel interrupts. Stunning in her purple-and-blue peacock-themed dress, her face expertly contoured, she smells like the entire bottle of Juicy Couture as she pushes her way between us. She throws her arms around my neck. I lower my head to her shoulder.
“Happy eighteenth,” she says, squeezing me.
“Thanks, Rock.” I squeeze harder, wrapping my arms around her body. As she pulls away, our eyes meet, her smile fading into gritty concern.
“Are you all right?”
I nod as Shannon hovers over me impatiently. She threads her arm through mine. “Come, my love,” she says, leading me into the party.
CHAPTER 36
ZACARIAS
I’ve lost sight of what I am, and I’m unable to recognize who I’ve become. A man ready to take a child from his or her mother and addicted to his teenage victim. I never would’ve fathomed guilt like this could exist.
I remember everything about Zina and the night we were together: Her yellow lacy panties and how she smelled like baby lotion and coconut shampoo. The way her course hair blew softly in the wind. I remember how nervous she was, how we kissed and I voraciously devoured each press of her lips. I remember her hands against my chest, pushing me away. I remember the words she spoke.
No…I can’t, she had said. Stop! Her voice fragile and full of apprehension. I refused to turn her loose, in love with the girl lashing out and struggling underneath me.
I’ve told Whitney that our living together would no longer work, and though she angrily agrees, she continues to leave things at the apartment so she’ll have some reason to return. She always shows up, her plan devious and cunning like the woman herself. Her goal: to gain information about the girl I cheated with.
“We’re over because of a one-night stand or was there more?” she asks over and over as an attempt to goad me into giving her information. Throughout the days since my confession, she pries with an ice pick and searches the apartment when she thinks I’m not paying attention. She wants anything—any evidence, any trace that will lead her to Zina. But I never say a word about her, which must infuriate Whitney beyond reason. But whatever, what’s done is done. And she never misses the opportunity to throw my infidelity in my face, bringing it up constantly, using my addiction as a weapon against me.
I spend Saturday packing Whitney’s things and loading them into the back of a U-Haul I’ve rented. After three hours on the phone last night, she agreed to move all her things out of the apartment and into her dad’s house, which is the best place for her and the baby right now. I load heavy boxes of shoes and clothing, along with Whitney’s armoire, into the truck at an urgent speed, while she stands next to the truck, watching me, dark sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose, her arms folded.
“So. I’m a single mother now?” she asks as I stack boxes in the back of the truck. I walk over to her and take her hand in mine, but she snatches it away. I look at her.
“You’re not a single mother. You have me. We’re just not together.”
“That’s what a single mother is, Zack.” She walks around to the other side of the truck.
“We can’t do this anymore, Whitney,” I say as I walk around to meet her. I go for her hand again. She lets me take it this time. “We can’t even stand each other anymore.” I search her eyes, wanting her to agree.
“Sometimes, maybe,” she whispers. “But we’re not supposed to be perfect. We’re just supposed to be together.”
I hold her hand as I walk her to the bed of the truck. I go to sit in the driver’s seat, pulling her against me. She stands between my legs.
“But don’t you want to be with someone you love?” I ask.
“I am,” she says, her lips quivering. “I love you, Zack. So much.”
Her declaration makes me uneasy, so I let go of her hand.
“I haven’t loved you in a while, Whit. I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
She cries softly as I get up and load the remaining boxes into the U-Haul.
I consider telling someone, reporting myself to the police. I wonder why she hasn’t already. I waited all week, expecting arresting officers to come for me. I envisioned it clearly: “Zacarias Moreno, under arrest for the sexual assault or rape of a minor.” But it hasn’t happened.
As Whitney rides next to me in the cab of the U-Haul, I can feel Whitney’s anger. I doubt she will ever forgive me. The drive to her dad’s house is miserable as Whitney throws question after question at me. She wants answers and asks if I cheated on her because she got pregnant. My not loving her isn’t good enough. She needs a picture painted; she needs to understand.
“Were you drunk?” she asks.
“No.”
“Was she?”
“No.”
She stares out the window. “You had a few drinks that night,” she says.
“I wasn’t drunk.”
“Is she pretty?”
The question lingers between us for a moment.
“She’s beautiful.”
“She’s a goddamn slut!” Whitney snorts.
I drop Whitney at her father’s six-bedroom, three-story gated home and unload the U-Haul by myself. I move boxes and furniture to various rooms under my ex-girlfriend’s direction. Her dad watches, sneering at me as if I’m the deceitful lowlife who impregnated his unwed daughter. I leave almost three hours later after promising to call Whitney tomorrow after church. I return the rental and take a cab home.
Around midnight, John comes home and finds me on the balcony finishing off a six-pack of beer. He opens the patio door slowly, peering at me. He lets out a slow whistle.
“She’s gone?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah.”
“So all her stuff…gone too?”
“Yeah. I packed it. Moved it myself.”
“Where’d she go?”
“Her dad’s.”
He goes back inside but leaves the door open. A few minutes later, he returns with a bottle of Irish whiskey and a glass and sits down next to me.
“The glass is for you,” he says, handing it to me. “So I looked around. She’s really out of here, huh?” He sits back in his chair, twisting the cap off the bottle.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “You think I was bullshitting?”
“Mmm hmm. Too good to be true.” He shrugs as he holds the bottle out and fills my glass.
“So. This girl you cheated with…she moving in next? Did you get her pregnant too?” He smirks.
I down my whiskey and let the burn stick in my throat. “Fuck. Don’t make jokes about it. Don’t make jokes about her.”
“Sorry,” he says as he drinks from the whiskey bottle. I hold my glass up for a refill.
“Which girl’s got you in such a fucked-up mood?”
“The one I hurt.”
His eyes narrow. “What, Whitney? You gotta get over her. She’s not some delicate flower—”
“Not Whitney.”
“The new girl? Already? What did you do?”
“I raped her.” I can’t believe I said it.
“Y…you…”
“I know I should regret it. I know I’m supposed to be sorry or punished for it.” I run off at the mouth. “But I don’t regret it. And I want her to forgive me, because I want to move on with her.”
“Did…did…What you’re saying is fucking insane.” He frowns as the weight of my confession falls on him. He sits back in his chair, confusion and disdain mingling on his face. “You raped someone?” He pauses, shaking his head. “Nah. You didn’t.”
“She came on her own, to the party…to the barn.”
“The barn? What barn?” He gets to his feet.
“At the party last week. Clifton’s ranch. My birthday.” I reach for the bottle of whiskey.
“Goddamn, Zack, you really are a sad piece of shit.”
“I know.”
“Did Whitney find out? Is that why y’all broke up?”
“No, she doesn’t know the details. I broke up with her because I have feelings for this girl.”
He walks over to the balcony and looks over the edge. ”You have feelings for this girl?” He walks toward me and smacks me across the side of the head. “You stay the fuck away from this girl,” he says. “You forced yourself on her, right?” He smacks me again. I hold my hands out to block his blows. “Right?” John grabs a handful of my hair and jerks my head back so I can see his face. “That’s what you said. You said you raped her.” He jerks my head back again. I almost fall from my chair.
“I didn’t mean to.” He clutches my hair so tight that my scalp hurts.
“The fuck you mean?” he says and smacks me across my left cheek, his saliva spewing across the side of my face. “She don’t want you, bro. You understand? If she did, you wouldn’t have to…” He cocks me in the face one more time. “You stay the fuck away, you got me?”
“I can’t stay away, John. Why should I?”
He snatches me from my chair, and I fall forward on the ground.
“Don’t be so goddamn stupid, Zack. Get the fuck up. And pull yourself together.”
CHAPTER 37
ZINA
Shannon refuses his last drink, and I don’t drink anything at all. The two of us sit on the couch. Shannon’s crowding me, watching and catering to me as if I’m his six-year-old niece.
Between him, Rock, and Bee, I finally relax, realizing that I really have no choice. I don’t want to ruin their night. This means a lot to them. It’s the night of our senior prom, so I suck all my crazy, traumatized stuff up for a few hours, hoping the next episode will come when I’m alone.
“Did you notice that there wasn’t a gift from me?” Shannon asks.
“No, I didn’t pay attention. I’m sorry,” I reply.
“It’s downstairs.”
“Why is it downstairs?”
“Will you please come down with me? But you don’t have to. No pressure.”
I shake my head. “I don’t really want to.”
“But you could get a moment to yourself. You’re so uncomfortable. I don’t have to come with you. I’ll give you both keys.”
“I’m kinda tired. I just want to go to sleep.” He scoots closer and grabs my hand. My face twists. I try to hold back tears. “But I don’t want go anywhere by myself.”
“I’ll carry you.” He squeezes my hand, a glimmer of innocence and hope in his go-light-green eyes. I can’t picture Shannon carrying me anywhere and think it’s foolish for him to offer.
“Why is it such a big deal for you to get me downstairs?”
“You’re right.” He recoils and sits back on the sofa. “Forget it.”
I feel guilty, and the last thing I need is to feel guilty. I’ve always trusted Shannon, even after the whole dramatic thing with his fugazi ex-girlfriend. I don’t want that to change. It’s unfair to both of us that our relationship—our friendship—should change because of what some piece of crap did to me. It’s hard holding back tears and swallowing my sour, disheartening fear. I agree to go with him. We stand up, and he scoops me up, my dress and legs sweeping up from the floor.
“Don’t be stupid. Put me down.”
“Nah. Let’s go,” he says, beaming.
When the elevator doors open, Shannon steps off with me still in his arms.
“Um…” I say, looking around, “you can put me down now.” He ignores me and keeps walking.
“We’re almost there,” he says, stopping in front of room 319. “I thought if we got tired, we could hang out here. Peace and quiet, you know.” He put me down slowly. “If you don’t want me to come in with you, I won’t. I promise.”
The door to the room across from ours is open. A chocolate-skinned boy dressed impeccably in prom attire steps into the hallway. As Shannon digs our room keys from his pocket, I glance inside the chocolate boy’s room and see Beatrice perched calmly on the edge of the sofa inside. She sees me too and stands immediately, straining to see out into the hallway.
“Give me a key.” I hold my hand out toward Shannon, nudging him. Then, like the tsunami that she is, Beatrice storms into the hallway.
“Shannon!” He freezes at the sound of her voice, the warmth in his eyes fading. He turns nervously to face her.
“Tris.” He stares at her. “How’s your night going?”
The tension between them is dreadfully thick. If I could claw my way through our room door, I would. Beatrice’s date, who’d started his trip down the hallway with an ice bucket, halts when he hears Shannon and Beatrice talking.
“Shannon,” I say, tugging on his hand, “give me the room key.”
Beatrice looks at Shannon and starts to cry. I hate to see it. I step away from them, while Shannon looks at her.
“What the fuck, Beatrice,” he says.
“Shannon,” she whimpers. “Please…don’t.”
“We need this time apart, Tris. It’s better.”
Her date reaches for her. She puts up one hand to stop him, her eyes never leaving Shannon’s face.
“It’s not good for me,” she says, shaking her head desperately.
As Beatrice rattles on about how much she loves him, how happy she is that Shannon is her boyfriend, and how they’re meant to be, he puts an arm around me and nudges me toward our door.
“Tris, you gotta decide that you’re gonna be okay.”
I look up at Shannon, hearing the sentiment in his voice. He loves her and doesn’t intentionally want to hurt her. At this moment, we’re all hopeless, a small part of each of us breaking simultaneously. I tilt my head, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t want the baby,” Beatrice says.
I pause, stunned, my mouth gaping. I look at Shannon. He flinches at the word baby and refuses to meet my eyes. I look at Beatrice’s date. He’s ready to burn.
“Tris…” His voice sounds gravelly; he seems barely able to speak. “I didn’t want the baby either. You’re right. I’m too young. But we are not meant to be.”
“You love me,” she says, pressing her palms over her exposed chest. “You said you did.” She looks beautiful in her silky peach dress as she sweeps the bottom of it to the side and steps toward us. “Please don’t do anything with her. Don’t touch her.”
He moves in front of me, handing me the room key. “Go in,” he says.
“No!” She tugs on Shannon’s arm. “If you ever cared at all. Shannon, please.”
I want no part of this, and I consider going inside and locking him in the hallway with her. I slide the key in the door, and Shannon reaches around me to push it open with one hand. He grabs my hand and pulls me inside, the door shutting behind us.
I can hear Beatrice crying in the hallway. I’m transfixed behind the closed hotel room door. I move closer and press my ear to it. She’s complaining to her date, blubbering about how Shannon just threw her away for me. I feel bad for her. She loves him more than I do right now.
“What’s she saying?” Shannon asks, removing his suit coat while I stand pressed against the door.
“She really loves you,” I whisper.
“Come away from the door.”
“Maybe you should go to her.”
He looks at me as he sits on the edge of the bed. “Stop,” he says.
“I’m not prepared to deal with a love triangle. Can’t do it. Shit’s crazy.”
“I’m sorry about Beatrice. She takes meds for her mood swings.”
“Meds, huh? Lucky girl.”
“Get away from the door, Zina.”
I move away slowly. Beatrice is not fine, the chinks in her armor becoming
more noticeable by the second. Her reality is one she’s unable to accept. Shannon being with me must be unimaginable. I know the damage that’s caused when you become a victim of the unimaginable, how it changes you. I’m frustrated with Shannon for being stupid and not seeing that neither one of us is fine. Beatrice’s grief is shallow in a way, sobbing and making a gushy scene over a boy because he quit her for another girl. Shit’s pretty weak. Still, I recognize the pain, and I empathize with her. I wonder if she’d hate me less if she knew I could relate to her emotional shit storm.
“Why do you want to do this?” I walk over and stand in front of him. “You got a girlfriend in the hallway losing herself and another girl in here trying to hold herself together.”
“She’s fine. You’re fine.”
“She’s not fine,” I say, watching anger spark in Shannon’s eyes.
“God. She’s never fine. Never. There’s always something someone will do to upset her.” He stands from the bed and backs up until he’s standing in the middle of the room. “She needs to deal. Take her medicine. Calm down or whatever.”
I’m shocked he’s so insensitive. “I thought you cared about her.”
“I don’t want to talk about it…her. She’ll be fine. It’s ruining the night.”
“Night’s already ruined, Shannon. Can’t you tell?”
Standing perfectly still near the bed, I’m ready to leave. I move closer to the door, waiting for the hallway to go quiet. Soon I hear no more voices, and a door clicks across the hall.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Shannon says. “What’s wrong with you? You’re nervous all the time. You don’t want to be around anyone. You don’t want to be around me.”
I put my hand on the doorknob.
“Zina!”
The unyielding force in his tone prompts me to stop.
“We haven’t really been talking,” I say, my throat burning. I feel panic rising in me. I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold on. “But it’s not you.” I try to assure him, my body quivering. “Don’t think that it—” I break into tears, reminding myself of the girl we’d just left in the hallway. “It’s not you…or anyone else.” I sob.
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