What Unbreakable Looks Like

by Kate McLaughlin

  Inside the house is even nicer. The kitchen is huge and the living room has a TV bigger than I’ve ever seen before. The sofas and chairs look comfortable and soft. We walk up a polished staircase, and she takes me down the hall to the last room.

  “This is yours,” she says, and opens the door.

  There’s a hard thump against the back of my ribs when I look inside. She’s right. It’s kind of bland. The walls are off-white, the floor polished wood, but there are large windows and a desk with a computer. The bed is a big four-poster that could probably fit three people, and there’s a huge closet.

  “Your bathroom is through the second door.” My aunt points across the room.

  My own bathroom? I don’t have to share it with anyone? What’s the cost of having all this luxury? What are they going to want from me? What happens if I don’t give it? I can’t … I just can’t.

  Krys frowns. “Lex?”

  I try to breathe and I can’t. It’s like the air gets to the back of my throat and won’t go any farther.

  She grabs my shoulders and steers me to the bed. I’m plunked down onto the mattress, my head pushed between my knees. I suck in air as blackness crowds the edges of my brain. Who the hell panics over a fucking bedroom?

  Me, apparently.

  Once my breaths come steadily, I lift my head. Krys strokes my back with long, firm strokes. I don’t pull away. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

  I’ve heard that a lot lately. Still not sure I believe it.

  “It’s bigger than the last apartment Mom and I had,” I confess.

  Krys nods. “It’s a little overwhelming, I know. I thought maybe you were freaked out at the prospect of decorating.” She smiles when she says it.

  I look around at all the white. “It could use some color,” I allow. But that’s all I’m going to say. Don’t get attached, inner me says. This isn’t going to last.

  “I want you to feel at home here,” my aunt says, as if she can read my mind. She gives my shoulders a squeeze then releases them. “You’re part of the family.”

  I want to believe that so much.

  “I’m starving,” she says. “I have Chinese leftovers in the fridge. You want?”

  I follow her back downstairs to the kitchen and watch as she gets cartons out of the big, shiny fridge. I sit on one of the stools at the island.

  “So, we’ll need to get you a phone too. The computer upstairs should do—Jamal just bought it. We can get you a TV if you want.”

  “You don’t have to spend all this money on me.”

  She straightens and looks me right in the eye. “You think we want something in return; is that it?” She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “Kid, I’ve had three miscarriages. I don’t know if I’ll ever have a child of my own. Sometimes I think I don’t deserve one. Then I find you again. I’m not a big believer in God, Lex, but I think you and I were brought back together because we need each other. I know it’s not going to be easy, and we’re probably going to have fights and we’re not always going to agree, but anything I do for you is because I want to do it. Okay? I want to buy you clothes and give you a room. I want to give you the life you ought to have had. Will you let me try?”

  I look at the door. If I’m going to bolt, this is the moment to do it. Get the fuck out of here and away from this crazy-ass bitch who doesn’t even realize what she’s asking of me. I’ve been beaten by men who didn’t scare me half as much as my aunt does. What if she discovers I’m not worth it? What happens when she finds out I’m unlovable? Or that I can’t love her the way she wants?

  Yeah, I should bolt. My thighs twitch, my legs ready to jump up and starting running.

  I stay where I am.

  * * *

  Krys and I go shopping in West Hartford. I get a few clothes and some things for my new room.

  There’s a comforter and sheet set on one of the display beds that’s so pretty, I can’t stop touching it. It looks antique in shades of ivory, rose, and tea—like something a Victorian lady might have had.

  “Do you like that one?” my aunt asks.

  I shake my head. It’s so girlie I shouldn’t like it, but I do. I really do. I open my mouth to tell her that, but what comes out is, “Yeah.”

  She smiles at me. “It’s beautiful. Let’s see if they have it in a queen.” We wander over to the bins on the wall that hold each style, and Krys quickly finds the one I like. “They have it! Want to get it?”

  “No,” I whisper hoarsely, even though every inch of me is screaming yes inside.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks with a frown. “Are you okay?”

  “Please. Just … don’t.” Dread bubbles in my stomach, chilling my bones. If she buys that set for me, I know something terrible will happen. I’ll die without ever sleeping on it. I don’t deserve something that beautiful.

  “Okay.” She doesn’t ask why, just links her arm through mine and starts walking. “Let’s go get some dinner. Jamal’s going to join us before I have to take you back.”

  It’s easier to breathe when we leave the store.

  “Maybe next weekend we can get pampered,” Krys suggests. “Have you ever had a facial?”

  I shake my head. “Not a real one. At the motel, sometimes we’d do masks and paint one another’s toes.”

  She smiles, but it looks shaky. “Do you miss the other girls?”

  I shrug. “Not really. I miss Ivy. Do you know where she is?” Has she forgiven me for wussing out on her?

  “No, but we can ask Detective Willis if you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  We meet my uncle Jamal at P.F. Chang’s. He’s tall—over six feet—with a buzz cut and stubble on his face. He’s good looking, and his face lights up when he sees Krys. I bet my mother had a shit hemorrhage when she found out her little sister married a Black guy. Mom has no problem dating a guy who’d fuck her own daughter, but she draws the line at anyone who’s not white.

  “It’s good to finally meet you,” he tells me after giving Krys a kiss. He doesn’t try to touch me, but he does pull out my chair before sitting down in his own.

  “Did you ladies have a good day?” he asks, opening the menu.

  “We did, I think,” my aunt replies. “Why do you even bother to look? You always get the same thing.”

  Jamal laughs. Under the table his knee brushes mine. I tense, waiting for a hand to follow.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. “You don’t have enough room.” He moves his chair around the table, closer to Krys.

  “He takes up a lot of space.” Krys laughs. She trusts him—trusts that he won’t screw around or betray her. Trusts that he won’t touch the ho they’re going to move into their house, because she’s family.

  Krys doesn’t know men like I do. She doesn’t know the nasty shit they’re capable of. They think shoving their dick inside you means they own you. I wish I didn’t know the things I do. I wish the thought of them didn’t cause me to break out into a sweat and make me think about raking my fork down my forearm just to let out how fucking powerless I am.

  I run the tines of my fork along the sensitive underside of my arm. The metal is cool and sharp against my skin. I shiver—only a little—but it’s enough to catch Krys’s attention. She smiles.

  “Are you cold, Lex?”

  I set down the fork and straighten up in my chair. “No. I’m good.” I open the menu and start reading. Suddenly I’m starving.

  A waiter comes to take our order. It’s a stupid amount of food for three people, but neither Krys nor Jamal seems to notice.

  “I’ll be right back,” my aunt says as she stands. My heart skips a beat as she walks away. She’s only going to the bathroom, psycho.

  I glance at Jamal, then at the bathroom door, then at Jamal.

  “Is it because I’m Black, or because I’m a guy?” he asks casually.

  I whip my head around to look at him. “What?”

  “Do I make
you nervous because I’m Black or because I’m a guy?”

  “Bro, I don’t care what color you are.” We had the spectrum pretty much covered at the motel, and we were all the same there. Just goods and services.

  He nods solemnly. “So, because I’m a guy. Okay. Listen, I don’t know all the right things to do or say to make you feel comfortable, and you have no reason to believe anything I say, but let me give it a try. I love your aunt, and your aunt loves you. We both want you to come live with us, even though the idea of being a parental figure freaks me out. Sometimes I might say or do the wrong thing, and I’m going to need you to tell me when that happens. So, did I do something to make you uncomfortable other than the knee thing?”

  He picked up on that? I shake my head. “I’m sorry I freak you out.”

  “It’s not you,” he says with a smile. “It’s the responsibility of you. What if I do something or say something that scars you for life?”

  I blink at him. “You really think you can compete with what’s already happened?”

  He starts to laugh but stops himself. I can’t help but smile a little, and he smiles too. “Well put.”

  He seems like an okay guy, but I’ve been wrong before. Still, I’m willing to give him a chance because he and Krys are taking one on me. I’d have to be dense not to realize I’m not much of a catch in the daughter department. No one would pick someone like me unless they really meant it, or wanted to exploit me some more. I might not trust many people, but I’m pretty sure I can trust my aunt.

  “Do you like horror movies?” Jamal asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  He looks mortified. His dark eyes widen behind his glasses. “The first night you stay with us, we’re watching something scary.”

  “Oh, God,” Krys says as she rejoins us. “Maybe not the first night, Mal.”

  He looks disappointed. “Sounds fun,” I hear myself say.

  Jamal’s face lights up. “I know just where to start—Carrie. Little scary, not much gore, and very satisfying. Lots of girl power.”

  I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it.

  Krys rolls her eyes at him and smiles at me. They’re both so … normal. Sitting with them feels surreal. I don’t know how to act or what to say. Luckily, neither of them have any trouble talking. They include me in as much of the conversation as they can. It’s exhausting, all this talking. I’m glad when our food arrives so I can be quiet.

  After we eat, someone calls Jamal’s name as we’re leaving the mall. We all turn. It’s a woman with a cane walking beside a guy who’s probably my age. He’s really tall with dark hair and dark eyes. He’s cute in a serious kind of way.

  “Anna!” Jamal greets her with a kiss on the cheek. I look at the hand holding her cane—her knuckles are huge, the fingers twisted. I’ve never seen anything so deformed that wasn’t broken. Do they hurt? Does she have painkillers in her purse, and is there a way for me to get to them if she does?

  “Zack.” Jamal shakes the guy’s hand. I look up, right into his dark gaze. He’s caught me staring at the woman. I should probably be embarrassed, but I’m not. I stare at him instead. He doesn’t look away. He’s not threatening, but … he’s not going to back down.

  “This our niece, Alexa,” Jamal says to the woman. I have to look away now, or be rude. I can’t afford to be rude. I turn to the woman, who smiles at me.

  “Nice to meet you, Alexa,” she says. “I’m Anna Bradley and this is my son, Zack.”

  We look at each other.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey,” I repeat. This time he’s the one who breaks the stare. He looks bored, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Get in fucking line, buddy.

  The adults talk for a minute before saying goodbye. I cast another glance at Zack, but he’s not paying any attention to me; he’s focused on his mother.

  “Anna looks good,” Krys says as we cross the parking lot. “I think Zack’s even taller than the last time we saw him. You’ll probably be in some classes with him, Lex.”

  I shrug. “Okay.” I hope she doesn’t hold her breath waiting for us to become friends.

  We leave Jamal at his car—a silver SUV—and Krys and I return to hers.

  “So,” Krys begins after we’ve been driving for a bit. “What do you think? You want to take a chance on us?”

  Is she trippin’? “You sure you wanna take a chance on me?”

  She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “Okay, then.” I glance out the window and back at her. “What if I said no? Would you let me go?”

  Her hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. “I would have asked for another chance, gone home and cried a bit, and tried again, because no—I’m not giving up on you.”

  “You might not be able to fix me,” I warn her.

  “I don’t want to fix you, sweetie. I want to give you the opportunity to have the life you deserve. You can fix yourself, if you think you need fixing.”

  My throat is tight. I swallow, but the lump won’t go away. “Thank you.” I say it because it’s the right thing to say. Part of me even means it. But another part of me? That part wants to unbuckle my seat belt, open the door, and roll out into traffic. That part of me would prefer pain and death over this small shred of hope I’m hanging on to. Pain and death rarely let you down, but hope? Hope’s a heartless bitch.

  * * *

  That night, I lie in bed and think about Mitch. I miss him, and I hate him. I’m scared that I don’t know what I’ll do if he shows up. What if he tries to take me back?

  The police haven’t caught him. They’re looking for him, but Mitch is a snake—he knows how to hide. He’s got a lot of places where he can lie low. I’ve been to a few.

  The first time I met him was at a party. Mom’s boyfriend, Frank, had people over. There was a lot of booze and pot and other stuff. I was in my room with my headphones on when he opened the door and walked in.

  I took off my headphones and looked at him. He was tall and lean with longish dark hair and dark eyes. He was almost pretty, like Ashton Kutcher on That ’70s Show, but older.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I thought this was the bathroom.”

  “It’s not,” I said.

  He grinned and walked in anyway. “I’m Mitch.”

  “Lex.”

  “What’s a pretty girl like you doing home on a Saturday night, Alexa?”

  I frowned. I didn’t like being called by my full name. A name he apparently already knew. Still, he thought I was pretty. “There’s nothing going on.”

  He leaned against my dresser. “When I was your age, there was always something going on.” He inclined his head toward the door. “Want to come out and join us?”

  Party with a bunch of old people? I’d rather chew off my own toe. The guys always got grabby. “No, thanks.”

  He nodded. “Okay. Maybe next time. Nice talking to you, Alexa.”

  I wrinkled my nose as he left the room. He was hot, but that was it.

  The next time he came over, he brought me new headphones—good ones. They were expensive. He grinned at me and said, “They’re noise-cancelling.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. “Thanks.”

  My mother beamed. “That’s a real nice gift, Mitch. Give him a hug, Lex.”

  I froze. Hug a guy I didn’t know? She didn’t think that was creepy?

  “She doesn’t have to do that,” he said, and I smiled at him. It wouldn’t be the last smile he manipulated out of me, but it was the first, and the one I regretted the most.

  * * *

  I bolt upright in bed, a silent scream tearing from my throat. Gasping for air, I clutch at my neck but there aren’t any hands there but mine. No one’s trying to strangle me.

  I’m in my bed at Sparrow Brook. Sarah is asleep a few feet away. Moonlight shines through the window, illuminating everything. My gaze darts around the room, searching …

  Mitch isn’t there.

 
My heart slams hard in my chest as I squeeze my eyes shut. I suck in air. In … out … in … out. The pounding slows.

  When I open my eyes, Sarah is sitting in bed, hair standing up. She’s in pajamas, like me. “You okay?” she asks.

  I nod, wishing she’d at least pretended to still be asleep.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head.

  “I have nightmares too,” she confides. “I was forced into the life by my stepbrother and some of his friends.”

  Is it wrong that all I can think is how glad I am that Krys and Jamal don’t have a son my age?

  “They got me all done up at a party—cocaine, E in my drink. Passed me around and took photos, then threatened to show my parents if I didn’t do what they wanted. When that didn’t work, they threatened to show my grandparents. That worked.”

  “Assholes,” I say.

  She smiles slightly. “Anyway, I keep having this one nightmare that I’m back in college and I have to write an exam, but when I get to the exam room, there’s a bed in the middle of the room and a line of guys around it—professors, students, strangers … The exam is that I have to be fucked by all of them, and if I don’t do it, they’ll fail me, and my grandparents will not only find out I’m a ho, but all the money they gave me for school will be wasted.”

  “What do you do?”

  She tilts her head. “You know what I do.”

  Once you’ve been hurt and survived, you’ll almost always do it again to protect people you love. To protect them from you.

  “I dreamed I was being strangled,” I confess.

  “By your pimp?”

  “No. He made one of the other girls do it.” Ivy. Mitch had told Ivy to kill me. And she did.

  “That’s harsh.” She throws back the covers. Her stuffed cat, Mr. Whiskers, is tangled in the blankets. “Hey, come on.”

  “Where?” We’re not running away, because she’s not getting dressed.

  She grins. “I know where they keep the hot chocolate.”

  Seriously? Hot chocolate? Are we in a sitcom or something? Hot chocolate’s not going to fix either of us.