by Ava Conway
I collapsed into the chair in the makeshift library and looked out the wide bay window at the quad below. A chill ran through my body as I realized that Flynn was just echoing the sentiment of my mom. To her, I was always the smart, stable child. My older sister and my father were the emotional messes. My mom had always been so tired after dealing with them. I didn’t want to bother her with my problems.
So I never told my mother about how dysfunctional my relationship with my varsity football boyfriend really was. She never knew about how he’d try to control and manipulate me through verbal abuse. She only saw the sweet valedictorian getting his education on a football scholarship. She didn’t see the monster living inside, or how, one day, that monster reared its ugly head and ended our relationship for good.
THE MORNING AFTER midterms, I knocked on the large fraternity house door with shaking hands. Despite the calendar saying March, it was barely above the freezing mark outside. I had wanted to stay under the warm comforter of my bed and sleep the Saturday away—it was unnatural for a college student to be up at the ungodly hour of eight in the morning—but this was too important to wait.
The door had immediately opened to Brad’s pudgy face. I never liked my boyfriend’s fraternity brothers, and Brad’s sneer only reaffirmed my convictions.
“Oh, it’s you.” He glanced at my backpack. “You aren’t staying over again, are you?”
“No.” I cleared my throat and tried to regain my composure. “Can I see Justin?”
“Who is it?” Kyle, Lucy’s boyfriend, sauntered up to the door. He was only wearing pajama bottoms, and between his round belly and massive case of bedhead, I couldn’t understand what Lucy saw in the guy.
“It’s Mia,” Brad answered.
“Justin!” Kyle bellowed. “Your girlfriend’s here!”
“Can I come in?” I asked.
“Sure thing.”
Kyle and Brad stepped aside, allowing me entrance. The front door opened up into a large living area that smelled like stale beer. Various coeds in compromising positions lined the couch and floors. I picked my way through them to the staircase along the far wall. Brad and Kyle followed. By the time I reached the stairs, Justin was coming down, wearing his football jersey and sweatpants. Justin always wore his football jersey and sweatpants. Even when he wasn’t at practice.
“We need to talk,” I said when he reached the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m happy to see you too, Mia.” He gave me a hug and leaned in close to my ear. “Later. I’m busy right now.”
I pushed away from his embrace. “No, Justin, this is important.”
He considered me for a moment, then leaned against the stair railing. “Okay, shoot.”
I glanced at Kyle and Brad, who were watching with interest. “Is there somewhere we can go where it would be more private?”
“There’s always the Den of Pleasure,” Kyle offered, which got a round of laughter from the guys. The Den of Pleasure was the ultimate party room, where the single men of the fraternity coaxed young coeds into having sex in front of an audience of drunk fraternity brothers. The frat brothers claimed it was a highlight of any woman’s college experience. I disagreed. Justin had asked me to have sex with him in the Den of Pleasure once. I had made such a stink about it that he never brought it up again.
“I mean it,” I said.
Justin considered me, then motioned his friends to go away. “Come on into the kitchen.”
“Is there anyone there?”
“This is a fraternity house.” He frowned. “What do you think?”
I would have laughed, but I was too nervous. As I followed Justin into the kitchen, my stomach started to do flip-flops.
“What’s up?” he asked as he opened the refrigerator door.
I dropped my backpack and watched his large, muscular frame as he bent over and searched for food. What I had to tell him was quite the shock, and I wasn’t sure how he was going to take the information. On the way over I had practiced what I was going to say, deciding that bluntness was best. I opened my mouth to start my prepared speech, but the words stuck in my throat. What I had to tell him would change our lives forever.
Instead of speaking, I rummaged through the side compartment of my backpack.
He pulled a milk carton from the fridge and closed the door. As he opened the cap, he dragged his gaze over my petite frame. “Why do you always look so frumpy, Mia?”
I stopped searching my backpack and stared at him. “I’m not frumpy.”
“Sure you are.” He waved his hand up and down in front of me as he took a large gulp of milk from the container. “Those sweats are so unflattering. Some stylish clothes would trim ten pounds off of you, and a little makeup would do wonders.”
I steeled my jaw and averted my gaze so he couldn’t see the tears stinging my eyes. How dare he? But then again, this was how Justin always behaved. He cared more about how I looked on his arm than what was inside my heart or my mind.
“Is this about the other night?” he asked.
“The other night?” I found what I was looking for and wrapped my fingers around it.
“Yeah, and the anal.”
“The . . .” I couldn’t finish the thought.
“Look, it wasn’t that bad.”
“You weren’t the one bent over the bed.”
“Brad’s girlfriend prefers it. Says that it’s impossible to get pregnant so Brad doesn’t need to use a condom.”
“Yeah, about that.” I pulled out the stuffed bunny I had bought at the school bookstore. It had the cutest maroon T-shirt with our school’s name in burnt orange.
“What’s that?”
“A stuffed animal.” I glanced down at the bunny’s brown-and-white spotted fur. “Freckles.”
“I can see that.” He finished the last of his milk. “Why did you bring that god-awful thing in here?”
“I thought that the baby would like it.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Baby?”
“I’m pregnant.” I halfheartedly waved the bunny in the air. “Surprise.”
He slowly put the milk carton down on the counter. “Who did you fuck?”
“What are you talking about? The baby’s yours.”
“Are you sure you’re pregnant?”
“I took a test this morning.”
“But have you been to a doctor?”
“Well, no.”
He visibly relaxed. “Then you aren’t pregnant. Not officially.”
I glanced down at the bunny in my hand. “I’m pregnant, Justin.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. Women know these things.”
He swallowed and fisted his hands. “No.”
I looked up at the bunny again and met his panicked gaze. “Yes.”
“You’re not doing this to me.” He shook his head. “It’s not mine. It can’t be.”
“It can be, Mr. I-hate-using-condoms.”
“But we had anal.”
“We had anal yesterday. I haven’t had my period in seven weeks.”
He crossed his arms. “Then go see a doctor and get rid of it.”
I rubbed the stuffed animal against my stomach. “Get rid of it? I can’t, Justin.” I shook my head and tightened my grip on the freckled bunny. “You don’t understand. The women in my family have all had difficulties getting pregnant. Many of them are barren. This baby is a miracle.”
“You’re a liar, Mia. This baby isn’t mine. It belongs to someone else.”
“Justin—”
“I have big plans, Mia, and they don’t involve taking care of a crazy bitch and her bastard.”
I placed my hand over my belly. “I’m not a crazy bitch.”
“Next week a talent scout is coming from the NFL.”
I lowered my hand and slumped my shoulders in defeat. “I know.”
“This is important to me, and you’re trying to mess up my head with your lies.”
“I’m not lying
.” Tears stung my eyes once more. I blinked them back and took a deep breath to steady my nerves. “You’re the only person I’ve slept with all year, Justin. It’s yours.”
“You probably fucked half this fraternity behind my back.”
“I didn’t, I swear.”
“That’s impossible. You’re a cocksucking whore, that’s what you are. It’s the only explanation.”
“Justin—”
He waved his hand at the door. “Get out.”
“No, we have to talk. This baby—”
“I said, get the fuck out!” He picked up the empty milk jug and threw it at my head. I ducked and it crumpled against the stove behind me.
“Justin, be reasonable.”
“No, you be reasonable.” He picked up an empty beer can and crushed it in his hand. “Did you really think you could entrap me with your lies?” He tossed the can at me as if I were some stray animal who had wandered onto his property.
I ducked and hugged the bunny to my chest. “I’m having this baby, Justin.”
He fisted his hands and took a menacing step forward. “I don’t ever want to see your lying ass again. You and that bastard are both dead to me, Mia. Do you understand? Dead to me.”
Anger radiated off him in waves and I knew that I’d never make him understand. When I was a teenager, I had been diagnosed with polycystic ovary syndrome, just like my mother, aunt and sister before me. This child was a miracle, and I wasn’t going to just “get rid of it,” no matter what Justin said.
“Get out!” he yelled as his face went red with anger.
I took off his class ring and threw it at him. It missed his chest and rolled underneath the refrigerator.
“Bitch.” As Justin went after it, I grabbed my backpack and hurried out the front door, ignoring the curious glances of the fraternity brothers just waking up from their night of binge drinking. The early-morning sun hit my face as I hurried across campus. Tears stung my eyes as I raced into the triple-decker building to the second-floor apartment I shared with Bethany and Lucy. Thankfully, they were already up and out for the day.
I closed my bedroom door and flung myself on the bed. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks. I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of how my sister had called to tell me about her third miscarriage the week before, and how she and Steve were going to see a fertility specialist to discuss their next steps. I wondered how life could be so cruel as to rob her and her husband of the chance for a family while giving me a baby I had no means to care for.
I’d find a way to care for it, though. My mom had always told me that I was the smart one, the stable one. Well, if that was true, then it was only a matter of time before I figured a way out of this mess.
My stomach ached, as if my baby girl—I suspected it was a girl—was trying to make herself known. I imagined her sensing my pain and wanting to soothe me.
I curled into a ball and clutched Freckles to my chest. “We’ll be okay, little one. Don’t you worry,” I murmured into my pillow. “Mommy will make sure of it.”
“MIA, ARE YOU all right?”
I jumped at Dr. Polanski’s voice, spilling my notebook onto the floor. “What? Oh, yes, sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About what I saw in the common room.”
“And what was that?”
I fumbled around in my mind for something that sounded professional, and decided to mention the Ping-Pong game and interaction between Nesto and Iris. “There seems to be more going on between them than what’s on the surface.”
“Perhaps.” Dr. Polanski thought for a moment. “It isn’t uncommon for patients to form close friendships while staying here.”
I thought of the hurt on Nesto’s face when he didn’t get his kiss from Iris, or how he seemed to hold his aggression in check around her. It seemed like there might be more going on besides friendship, but I didn’t want to tell that to Dr. Polanski just yet. If it turned out I was wrong, I could get Nesto and Iris in a lot of trouble, and I didn’t want either of them to be hurt because of me.
“I also saw Flynn reading Of Mice and Men.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” I thought about his case file and how he had dropped out of school to care for his siblings. “He seems to have a lot of knowledge for someone who didn’t graduate from high school.”
“Not everyone gets their knowledge from schools, Mia. You know that.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“It makes you curious,” she said.
“Yes.” I let out a long breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“It makes me curious, too.”
“I’d like to schedule some time to talk more to him about it.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I thought of our almost-kiss and felt the heat rise to my cheeks. Perhaps having a one-on-one session was just what I needed. If I could figure out what makes Flynn tick, I might not feel so off balance whenever he was around.
“As in a one-on-one?”
“Yes.”
“That really isn’t a good idea.”
“You said that I could conduct interviews.”
Dr. Polanski stopped outside of the rec therapy room door and faced me. “Yes, but that would be under supervision. Every time you interact with patients, you should be supervised.”
“I wasn’t supervised in the common area.”
“There were two orderlies there. You were hardly alone.”
I thought about Johnson and Everett, and how I felt more in danger around them than Nesto and Flynn. “But—”
“It’s for your own protection, Mia.” She placed her hand on the doorknob. “Believe me, I know how persuasive these patients can be. You have to remember, everyone is here because they are broken. They might seem normal on the surface, but in reality, they are struggling to put the pieces of themselves back together.”
“They’re all animals,” I murmured.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” I clutched my notebook tighter to my chest.
Dr. Polanski nodded. “Okay then, shall we go in?”
“Yes, thank you.”
As Dr. Polanski opened the door to the therapy room, I wondered if it was only the patients who were broken, or if, like me, some of the staff members were just very good at hiding their shattered pieces.
TEN
ONCE AGAIN I found myself on my futon in my apartment, snuggling in to watch my favorite reality television show. Most of my grad school friends didn’t like reality television, saying that everything was too fake and forced, but I found a sort of morbid fascination with it. This show in particular, where a family went from having nothing to suddenly finding a fortune, was particularly interesting. I kind of liked that money didn’t change who they were inside. There was comfort in that. So many times prosperity changed people, and not for the better.
I took a sip of bottled water as I thought about Flynn and his family’s sudden fortune. Unlike the reality show, the McKennas never won the lottery, or struck it rich with oil. No, their fame and fortune came about the old-fashioned way. They earned it.
Or rather, Flynn earned it.
I thought about our conversation that afternoon, and how Flynn had such an interest in that Steinbeck novel. It was odd how I was sitting and talking to a boxer, one who never went beyond the ninth grade, and he was so well spoken. In my mind it was contradictory, but then again, nothing about Flynn seemed to match what was written in that database.
My cell phone rang, jarring me from my thoughts. I picked up the phone and saw it was from my mother—again.
“Hi, Mom. What’s up?”
“How was your day, dear?”
“Okay. Tiring. Is there something I could do for you?” Of course there was, I mused. Whenever my mother called she wanted something. Whether it was money, information, or someone to vent to, my mother wasn’t the type to call just to say “Hi.”
“It’s your sister.”
“W
hat about her?”
“I—I think she might be doing those things.”
“Those things?”
“You know.” There was a short stretch of silence before she whispered. “Drugs.”
“It’s not possible. Lacey would never do anything like that.” She wouldn’t hurt her family like that again.
“I used to think the same, but she’s so emotionally fragile . . .” My mother sniffed. “So much like your father.”
I shook my head. “She wouldn’t do drugs again, not after the hell she went through to get off of them.” My sister used to tell me horror stories about the rehab clinic she had gone to. It wasn’t so much the staff and other patients, but the horrible withdrawals and violent outbursts.
“I don’t know. Steve was the one who kept her clean, and now that he’s gone . . . she won’t talk to me. I was wondering if you could call her.”
I sighed. “Mom, she’s with her friends. I’m sure they’re looking out for her.”
“They aren’t her friends—not really.”
“What do you mean?”
“She recently reconnected with her friends from college, the ones who took her to all of those clubs. Oh, Mia, I’m worried that they are going to push her back into that partying lifestyle. She was so destructive back then. I’m not . . . I’m not sure if she could go through all of that again. Perhaps you could talk to her.”
Helplessness washed over me as I listened to my mother’s voice. Not again. Please, not again.
“I’m not sure that there is anything I can do. I’ve never tried to have children, and I’ve never been through a divorce.”
“But you’re a clinical psychologist.”
“I’m still working toward my degree.”
“Nevertheless, she might listen to you.” She sighed. “Just promise me that you’ll call her tomorrow. I’m worried about her.”
“Okay, Mom, I’ll try.”
“Don’t try, do it, Mia. For me.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“That’s my girl. Now I’ve got to run. Tell me if you find out anything, will you?”