by Cage, Aria
Tonight, I will go to my first party. Tonight, I will do everything I can to expel Nate from my world. He will hate me, he will be heartbroken, but he will be free like the bald eagle we saw at the sanctuary. It is time for him to live and thrive, be the champion and king he is in my heart. I want him to roar, but he never will be able to when he is harboring his broken wing―me.
I wave them off, though it breaks my heart knowing it’s the last time I will see him while he loves me. I run to the house and scour my cupboard. I have nothing pretty, nothing revealing, so I go with one of my favorite black tees, tie it in a knot at my waist, and wear a pair of cut-offs with my black boots. I pull out my hair tie and allow my long brown hair to fall around my shoulders. I’m going to be late for this party, but that’s okay. I don’t need to be there long before I find Mason King. He looks at me with that look I recognize. I see it in Daddy’s eyes; I see it in Nate’s, in Mister Conway. They want something from me that I wish only Nate to have.
But Nate needs to be set free, and I don’t want Daddy to have this. Anyone but him. So, anyone will be Mason. I know he will take my offering because I’ve heard whispers of how he’d like to take me under the bleachers and fuck me until Tuesday. I don’t understand that saying, but I get the meaning, and that’s all that matters.
I have to walk there, but that’s okay, too; it gives me time to summon up the courage to do this. It’s hot even though the sun is setting. I feel sweat beading on my back. I don’t know if it’s from trepidation of what’s to come or from the heat. Either doesn’t matter, and doesn’t stay on my mind long as I hear the music, screams, and laughter from down the street. This is it; this is the beginning of the end. As soon as I walk up to the house, people begin to stare. Then, true to their nature, they continue to party because I’m no one to them. Someone hands me a red cup of fluid. I sniff and realize it’s beer, so I drink. I don’t sip; I scull it and recoil against the bitter taste.
I walk through the door, into the mosh of kids from school and who knows. It’s hot, stuffy, and loud as I dump my empty cup on the entrance table and look at the blur of faces and stares.
I head to where I think I will find him, where all the ball players will hang―by the keg out back, where police and bystanders don’t see. It’s pretty dumb since everyone is walking around with red cups anyway. No one will believe they hold sweet, innocent soda.
I make it to the kitchen when Greg Parker sees me and whistles. There’s that look, and I smile.
“Hi there, Charlie Bear. I never saw you at a party before.”
“Well you see me now,” I say, sliding onto the kitchen bench, taking his cup from him and downing it, willing my stomach not to cramp like it wants.
Greg wolf-whistles, drawing the attention of two other players of the Beavers, one of them being Mason. He stares at me and saunters over, and I smile over Greg’s plastic cup.
I definitely need more beer if I am to go through with this. I shake my cup, not caring who will refill it. Greg takes it and is happy to. He, too, has that look, but with some sting to it. I need to be careful. I need to finish this, but I’m need to keep an eye on one target. I have Mason in my eyes, and I know he is a sure thing.
“Looking good,” Mason says, as he places one hand on either side of my legs, his thumb brushing the skin of my thigh. I shiver. He thinks it’s a good sign. He knows nothing. My heart is beating so damn fast, the roar of blood in my ears is competing with the party.
Since I didn’t make a move away from his not-so-subtle advance, he brazens up. His hands cup my thighs and rides just a little higher when Greg returns with my drink. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and the first two drinks have made me hum already. I know the dangers of that, but I need not to feel the betrayal of cheating on Nate. I never used the word boyfriend with him, and he never said girlfriend. It was unspoken that we were together. I was his and he mine. But not anymore. Not after what I’m about to do. I take the drink and gulp it down like I’m dying of thirst when, in fact, I hate alcohol. Nate once had me drink on a Thursday morning to numb me from what was to come; I was sick before Daddy even called my name.
This time I will be smarter; I won’t wait so long before I let Mason fuck me to Tuesday.
I leaned into him, his face inches from my boobs. He’s the same age as Nate and has the same urges, I suspect. So, I make it clear what I want. “Take me upstairs.”
He nods, picks me up from the bench and slides me down his jock-firm body so I can feel how ready he really is.
I’m thrown to the side, and my hip hits the bench, making me yelp.
“Motherfucker, get your hands off her,” Nate screams. He’s screaming as he smashes his fists into Mason’s ribs and arm. Mason is cowering and trying to block the onslaught with his arm as Nate goes wild with rage.
I’ve never seen this side of Nate. I’m scared to fucking death, and yet, I want him. How fucked up is that?! I scream for Nate to stop, but he doesn’t hear me because he is screaming and cussing at Mason. This is my fault. Again, I am hurting people.
Nate swings back again, and I grab his arm. He is much stronger than I thought as my body is propelled forward, landing in a heap by Mason. It doesn’t matter, because it still worked.
Horror contorts Nate’s face as he gawks at what happened. Tears brim his eyes as he sweeps me into his arms and kisses me. He kisses me so hard I couldn’t breathe. When he pulls away, he tucks his head into my neck and chants his apology, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Get me outta here,” I whisper, as I hug him tight. He takes me out of the house, bumping into people until they are distant, white noise. He walks until I hear the sob that breaks my heart, and I squeeze him tighter. Neither of us says a word as he carries me all the way home. He doesn’t take me to my room, but to his, and as we reach his bed, he softly lays me on my back and begins to kiss my neck the way I like.
Still not a word is uttered as he kisses my skin and his hands sweep under my shirt to my bra, where he squeezes. I want him to continue, but all I can think about is his words, he wasn’t ready. I’m a fucking evil person who doesn’t deserve him.
I push against his shoulders. “Nate, no.”
He braces above me, his eyes webbed red. “Why?”
“Because you’re not ready.”
He scoffs and his face twists. “But you are, huh.”
I shake my head. “No. Yes. I am, with you. I love you. But…”
He pushes from me and his bed, raking his hands through his hair. “But you wanted to fuck Mason. You let him fucking touch you!” he growls and swipes at the belongings on his dresser, sending them crashing across his room. I flinch, but I know he would never hurt me. I leap from the bed to hold him like a bandage to a broken bird.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t take anything more from you. I wanted to set you free, and the only way I knew I could do that was to hurt you. I thought if you hated me, you would be free.”
He freezes and grabs hold of my shoulders, hard. His eyes ever so dark, full of deep torment. “I am only free when I’m with you. I will never hate you. I want to kill for you. I want to be with you when the time is right.”
“I know. But I wanted it to be my choice and my gift to give. I didn’t want it to be because I’m made to. I want to give myself to you before the choice is no longer mine. It’s all I have,” I weep.
Nate is silent, his breathing changing from jagged to a kind of pant. “I don’t want to take it from you, either. I want all of you; I want it to be your choice. You say you want to choose before he takes it away, but he already is taking it away. You only want to do this because you have to. There is no choice in that.”
He’s right. I swipe at the tears on my cheeks.
“Let it be me then,” he says. “I love you and you love me. I never want another to be able to touch you. Tonight, I felt a rage in me that scared me so bad; I thought I could lose you, and I never want to feel that again.” He takes a long breath, as
do I. he traces my damp cheeks with his thumbs, his hands so warm and soft against my cheeks. “I want to make love to you.”
I shake my head. He’s just saying that. He’s a sixteen-year-old boy who only knows a bound kind of love.
“Let me make love to you.” He pulls me to him and kisses me so softly that I forget all the pain and reasons why we shouldn’t.
PAUL CALLED IN SICK for me. Told me to stay in and rest before he kissed my cheek and left for work. He always calls in sick for me when I have marks someone might question. It’s a major reason he took this job. We had to move because there were too many whispers over my “accidents.” You can only run into furnishings and klutz your way through so many lies before people see the truth.
I lay in bed for half an hour after he left before rising and heading for the bathroom for painkillers. I made the mistake of looking at my reflection. I’m still this woman with a disgusting soul and a dirty secret, but now I’m a woman with a disgusting soul, a dirty secret, and a small cut to my forehead. I pull on the neck of my nightshirt to look at my ribs; the dark bruise runs across my delicate skin, almost all the way to my hip.
Most of my wardrobe covers my body because that’s how Paul prefers it. Therefore, I never had to worry too much when I bruised in those places. It was when he lost complete control, leaving revealing marks of rage, that I had to be more clever about how I masked. Makeup is my best friend. Today, however, makeup wouldn’t quite cut it.
I don’t have to go to work today, but I do have to go see Nate. It’s a risk of mammoth proportions if I’m caught by Paul. The deep ache in my muscles and bones won’t let me forget the punishment of upsetting him. I just have to be home before seven tonight, easy as that. Besides, if I don’t go to Nate, he may come looking for me, and that is much, much worse.
Swallowing the fear back, and self-disgust, I hit the shower and allow the hot, stinging beads to pummel my sensitive skin. I’m rougher than I need to be with my loofah and have to berate myself to take it easy. Not everything can be controlled; I know this better than most. I accept it and embrace it with every tender spot of my body.
I still don’t have my car; I doubt it will show in a hurry, so I choose to go for a run. I love running. It’s a punishment on my body I actually choose and enjoy. I slip a cap on and pull my long ponytail through the hole in the back, before making sure it covers the cut on my forehead. I grab the spare set of keys and tuck them in my pocket. Taking a huge breath, I step out into the bright Beaver Dam sunshine and beat the pavement across the back streets of town. I don’t want anyone to see me in case they mention it to Paul.
I’m sweating and panting like crazy against the painful pressure in my chest and ribs. My mouth is dirt-dry, and it’s not the first time I wished I had packed my drink bottle. Another idiot move. I’m swinging my body to the left as I take the corner to my childhood street, and my legs lag until I am brought to a slow walk. I see it. I see my past in the form of timber walls with peeling white paint. I see my nightmares in the boarded-up windows and overgrown garden. I don’t know why, but my legs take me to the path that’s riddled with cracks and weeds that peek through the concrete. It leads me to a place I never wanted to see again; to my front door. No! It’s not my front door anymore. I escaped this hell long ago; it hasn’t been my anything since the state ripped me from its shadows and from those I love.
“Charlie.”
I sob and shake as I hear my daddy calling me. Why is he calling me Charlie? I don’t want to go.
“Babe?”
I yelp as a hand touches my shoulder, and I spin around to find Nate. His eyes are drawn, and he’s biting his lip. I burst into tears and into his arms where he always protects me. I vaguely hear a grunt in between my sobs, and remember his injured shoulder before pulling away. But he doesn’t allow it, instead squeezing me tighter. This time I feel the pain in our embrace against my tender ribs. Yet that pain is nothing to the sound that he too is crying for what we have lost behind the nightmare of our past. He lost so much more than I, and I will never forgive myself for that, either.
My building blocks of life are built upon guilt so thick, it’s cold in here. My soul, my heart, my body, and love, are all so cold. I have nothing warm and good to give anyone, and that’s why I ended up with a man like Paul instead of a man like Nate. That’s why I’m happy to stay there, where the safety lies in knowing the rules.
Paul is my reminder; although a good man to the world, he is a monster, and monsters attract monsters alike. Nate, on the other hand, was pulled into the dark, made to do dark things until he was broken, lost, and taken away to rebuild.
“It’s okay. Everything will be okay,” he whispers in my ear, but they are lies. Nothing will ever be okay. I want so much that it will all be okay, that everything turned out differently, but it didn’t.
“Nate,” I sniff, trying to pull myself together for him and myself.
“Let’s go.”
I nod as he kisses my temple through my cap, where my cut hides. He ushers me off the path to the grass, and I wonder if it’s him who mows the lawn. Does he mow it every time he mows Nona’s? Does it pain him to be near the house and remnants of the garage and our past?
It’s not until I swipe at my eyes again, swiping the pain that drips via salty tears, that I notice we aren’t going to the house, but to our spot. Down by the back boundary, leading to the old Lester farm, is our tree; it’s our safe place, the one place Daddy never invaded. It was our safe place where I would wait, hope, and dream that this time, he wouldn’t call for me.
That never happened.
Nate takes his arm from around my shoulder, slides his fingers down my arm, and threads his fingers with mine like he used to. I look at our hands, his still so much darker than mine and now so much stronger looking. I study the art up his arm of intricate patterns and know in my gut there’s meaning to them. I want to ask, but I won’t. Instead, I silently relish in his small touch and let him lead me to the shade of our maple tree. He pulls me to the ground beside him. I almost sit on his lap before I shake myself conscious to things that are different now.
He gets settled; the pain of his shoulder still evident as he settles against the tree. We sit silently and close for so long, both just eying his thumb tracing my hand.
“I miss you,” he says softly. I feel his stare on my face now. I’m scared to look into his beautiful hazel eyes for he will see the darkness in mine. I’m not the same girl he used to talk so sweetly to under this tree.
“I miss you, too,” I say, closing my eyes and leaning on his good shoulder.
“Look at me, Charlie.”
I don’t want to; no, that’s a fat lie. I want to, I just can’t. I shake my head and bury deeper into him, glad to have his good shoulder.
“I need you to look at me.” He takes my chin in his thumb and finger, and gently tilts my head up. I have to look past the brim of my cap to see him, when he takes it from my head. I have to drop my gaze again and turn away before he gets a chance to see it. It all happens so quickly, my heart races a beat into my throat.
“What the fuck happened?” Nate has my face in his hands, tilting my head so he can see the small cut better. I pull at his wrists, but he doesn’t relent. “How did this happen?” he rushes again. If I don’t take control of this situation, it’s going to escalate really quickly.
“I slipped in the shower.” I find it’s easier to stay with half-truths.
He stills, and for a moment I think he buys it; most do. Then he turns my head again, so I have no choice but to look into his eyes which call to me.
“Say it again,” he says, daring me to lie again.
“I slipped―” I’m thrust to the dry, grassy ground with Nate’s fierce and hurt eyes boring into me. My heart is out of control, and so is his; I can feel it against my chest. His hands are planted on each side of my head; I can only imagine how much pain it’s causing his shoulder. “Please, your wound will rip open.”
&n
bsp; “I don’t give a fuck about that. Tell me again,” he growls, and I shudder. I don’t shudder from fear like when Paul growls. It’s something more primal than that. I want Nate to lose it with me. I want his touch. I want him to… leave his own mark on me.
“I… was stupid. I paid the price.”
Nate’s face crumbles with agony, and I feel my tears fall back into my hair. I hurt him again.
“Motherfucker,” he breathes.
I shake my head; he needs to know it’s not like he thinks. I deserve to be punished.
“Motherfucker!” he yells this time. I grab for his face, but it slips from my fingers as he pushes from me and paces the ground, growling and cussing. He slams his fist into the trunk of our tree, just below our carved names. I scream and scramble to my feet. I bear hug him with all my love and strength. He pushes against me, but I fight with everything I have in me. I hold on tight as he growls louder until his body shudders in my arms. He grabs me in his and squeezes to the point it hurts so much my breath is gone. But it’s a welcoming pain; I want it as he breaks down in my arms and into my neck. I feel his tears on my neck and this time I tell him what he needs to hear.
“Shh, it will be okay. It’s all going to be okay. I promise,” I soothe and lie.
One of his hands runs up my back and around my nape. The pressure behind his grasp is desperate, and I want to take his pain away. I do it the only way I know how to.
I kiss his neck so softly, the tiny prickles of his stubble tickle against my lips. I taste the salt of his skin on my lips and something in me stirs; something long ago forgotten. I want more; I want to remember; I want to feel.
Nate stills in my arms, before slowly his breathing begins to change, and I feel his stubbly cheek graze mine on its path to my own neck. His breath is steamy, bringing goose-pimples to my flesh in anticipation of his lips. Oh, God. I want his lips on me just one more time.