What Unbreakable Looks Like

by Kate McLaughlin

  “All right, fuckwad,” joins Zack’s voice. “You’re done.”

  I turn my head to see both Zack and Elsa approach. Zack has a kid by the collar of his jacket and shoves him toward me. “Tell her you’re sorry.”

  The kid can’t be much more than a freshman. His cheeks are red, his chin dotted with little whiteheads. He can’t even look at me.

  “Domanski is the one who thought it would be funny to decorate your locker,” Elsa tells me. “Didn’t you, dickless?”

  The kid nods.

  I reach up and tear one of the pages off the locker. “This is an ad selling a girl for rape. Is that funny to you?”

  The red blotches in his cheeks get bigger, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “If this were your sister in this picture, would you think it was funny?” I ask him. I’m calm, so incredibly calm. My voice sounds strong, almost foreign to my ears. I can be indignant for the girl in this ad, “Sweet Little Poppy” she’s called. I can even pity her and the glassy look in her eyes.

  The kid finally shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says. I’m not sure he means it. He’d have to understand it to mean it, and there’s no way he could possibly understand what it was like.

  “Take them down,” Zack says, giving him a push. His dark eyes look at him coldly and his jaw is clenched.

  The kid rips the remaining pages from the locker, balling them up in his hands. I take them from him. “Go away,” I say.

  He doesn’t need me to say it twice, and walks away at a pace slightly under a run.

  “Turd,” Elsa says. She grabs the crumpled ball of paper from me and buries it in a nearby trash can.

  I look up at Zack. I feel awkward after last night. He drove me home from the park, said good night, and drove away. I didn’t think he was going to talk to me again. “Thank you.”

  He reaches up and peels a stray piece of tape off the top of my locker door. “Elsa’s right. The kid’s a shit.”

  “He doesn’t get it,” I say.

  “Yeah, well maybe it’s time someone made them get it,” Elsa comments as she joins us. The first bell rings, and I hurry to put the books I don’t need inside my locker.

  “There’s no way to make them get it if they don’t want to.”

  “We’ll make them want to,” she insists. I don’t argue anymore. Mostly, because when she’s like this, there’s no telling her she’s wrong, and also because I don’t have the heart to tell her.

  When we reach homeroom, Elsa goes in first. Zack’s class is down the hall. He says goodbye to us and starts to walk away.

  “Hey,” I say.

  He turns back. A guy and girl walk between us to get into class. I move closer so only he can hear me. “Are we okay?” I ask.

  He nods. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Honest?”

  Zack smiles a little. “Yeah. Just try not to make any more assumptions about me, okay? Especially when you’re assuming I’m a shit like Mike or Domanski.”

  “You’re not a shit. You’re the anti-shit.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you later.”

  I smile as he walks away. He’s the real thing. A nice guy. A nice guy who knows my baggage and still wants to be my friend.

  I erase the smile as I walk into class. People are watching me, and the smile that lingers inside me isn’t any of their business.

  * * *

  I get home a little earlier than normal after school. It’s raining and Zack offered to take Elsa and me home before he had to go to work. He dropped her off first.

  As Zack pulls into our drive, a cop car drives by. It slows down as it passes. “You got protection now?” he asks.

  “Something like that, I guess. They want to make sure Mitch doesn’t come back.”

  “Mitch. That’s his name, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s a pretty lame fucking name.” He grins. “Who names their kid Mitch? Now, Zack is an awesome name. Like a spy or a superhero.”

  My lips twitch, but I try not to smile. “Or an IT guy.”

  “Ouch. This coming from a girl with the same name as the voice of an AI.”

  “Yeah, but Lex is a pretty cool name.”

  He nods. “It is. Really cool.” His grin fades. “See you tomorrow?”

  I tell him yes, say goodbye, and get out of the car. When I walk into the house, it’s fairly quiet, even though Krys’s car is in the drive. She must be in her workshop.

  I kick off my shoes and head to the kitchen for something to eat.

  “What the fuck were you thinking, Char?”

  I jump at the anger in Krys’s voice. Heart pounding, I look toward the living room where she’s pacing with the phone to her ear. She obviously didn’t hear me come in because she doesn’t even look in my direction.

  Char is what everyone calls my mother.

  “You told that monster where we live … It’s more than a stupid mistake. I should have taken her from you years ago … No, you shut up. Just shut up. You let him take your daughter and you let him do horrible things to her. She’s got scars, Char. Scars. Some of them are from him. He hurt her and you let it happen. You live with that. If he comes near her again, I’ll put a bullet between his eyes myself, you hear me? You tell him that the next time you see him.” She laughs harshly. “Yeah, right. Sure you’re not going to see him again. Fuck you, Char. Do me a favor and forget my number. Next time you need money, go begging somewhere else.”

  She hangs up and throws the cordless across the room. It lands on the sofa, bounces off the cushions, and clatters across the top of the coffee table before finally landing on the floor.

  That’s when she turns and sees me standing there, staring at her with my mouth and the fridge door wide open.

  “Lexi-bug.” She runs her hand through her copper hair. “I’m sorry you heard that.”

  I shut the fridge, my appetite gone. “She’s been asking you for money?”

  Krys closes her eyes—looks like I punched her. “I’m even sorrier you heard that part.”

  “She thinks you owe her for taking me, doesn’t she?”

  My aunt sighs, all of the anger draining out of her. She walks over to me and puts her arms around me. “She’s an addict, sweetie. It’s not that she doesn’t love you, it’s that booze is her life.”

  My eyes burn, but I don’t want to cry—not for my mother. I open a little door inside my head and tuck those tears away. “Can we get pizza?” I ask, pulling away.

  Krys blinks at me. Then, she gives a decisive nod that tells me she gets it—or at least she’s trying to. “You bet.”

  “Hawaiian?” I ask hopefully.

  She smiles and brushes some hair back from my face. “Anything you want, sweetie.”

  And I love her even more. She’s not just talking about pizza.

  chapter seventeen

  Dr. Lisa’s office is in Rocky Hill, in the back of her house. It’s nice and comfortable—like sitting in someone’s den or living room, only it’s small. There’s a waiting area outside, so Krys can sit out there and watch TV or read while I’m in session.

  “Hello, Alexa,” Dr. Lisa says when I walk in. She’s tall and thin, with long, dark hair and green eyes. Her eyes say a lot about her. They are hard and appraising. She’s had a tough life too.

  “Hi,” I say as I sit in my usual spot—an overstuffed armchair that’s super comfortable.

  “How are you?”

  “It’s been crazy,” I tell her, before filling her in on what’s been going on—all of it.

  “Tell me more about Zack,” she says when I’m done.

  “Seriously? I told you Mitch was outside my house, and you want to know about my friend?”

  Dr. Lisa smiles slightly. “I’m not surprised by Mitch’s actions, but whenever there’s a new male person in your life, I want to know about him, especially one you seem to respect and like.”

  “I don’t have to like him to respect him,” I counter. I don’t appreci
ate the emphasis she put on “like.”

  “Yes, but you do have to respect him in order to like him.”

  I shrug. “I don’t want to talk about Zack.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s not part of the problem. He’s just a guy.” In that second, I think of Mary Magdalene singing about how she’s had so many men and Jesus is just one more.

  There’s a glint in Dr. Lisa’s eye and I know I’ve given something away, but I’m not sure what. I’m annoyed—at myself and at her.

  “Mike and his buddies go to court tomorrow,” I tell her, changing the subject. “Can we talk about that?”

  “We can talk about whatever you want,” she reminds me.

  I don’t know what I want to say. I like it better when she asks me questions and I spew answers.

  “Are you nervous?” she asks—finally.

  I shrug. “I figure they’re going to get away with it.”

  She tilts her head to one side. “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “No, I really don’t.”

  “The judge will figure it was my fault. Everyone at school thinks it was my fault.”

  “Mr. Case doesn’t think it was your fault. And regardless of what happens at court, those boys have been expelled—they won’t be back to school.”

  I stare at her. “So, I’m going to get blamed for that too.”

  “You’ll be safe from them.”

  “During the day. They were at the coffee shop the other night. We live in the same town. It’s not like I can avoid them.”

  “Are you afraid of them?”

  “No. They can’t hurt me.”

  “Then why does it matter if you see them or not?”

  “Because every time I see them, I’m reminded of what I am, right when I’m starting to—” I tighten my lips, keep the words in.

  “Starting to what, Lex?”

  I hold the words, hold my breath, but eventually the need to let both out wins. “Forget,” I blurt, and suck in a lungful of air. “Just when I’m starting to forget, they remind me of what I am.”

  “What are you?”

  “Broken.”

  Her expression changes—softens. “You are not broken. If you were broken, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be doing everything you can to heal.”

  Maybe not. “What if it never happens?” I ask. “What if I never feel whole again?”

  She smiles sympathetically. “Then maybe—like a lot of us—you’ll have to find strength in being a little cracked.”

  * * *

  Ivy had a fever and was bleeding. Her hair was sweaty and stuck to her forehead.

  Rose’s john had complained about the noises Ivy was making and wanted some of his money back. Mitch wasn’t happy and moved Rose to another room. Then, he called me and Daisy in.

  Daisy took one look at Ivy and shrugged. “Prenatal suicide,” she said to Mitch.

  His frown deepened. “How did the bitch get pregnant?”

  “She had a UTI,” I said. “Antibiotics.” They looked at me funny for knowing penicillin could interfere with birth control.

  “Fuck,” Mitch said. He looked at Ivy like he wanted to kill her. Or maybe dump her off the interstate somewhere and let nature do the job for him.

  “She needs a doctor,” I told him.

  He glared at me. I took a step back, but I didn’t look away. “Please, Mitch.”

  It was the “please” that got him. The understanding that I owed him if he did what I asked.

  He pulled out his cell phone and made a call. When he hung up, he turned to Daisy. “Back to your room. And you—” He pointed at me. “You stay here with her. Doc’ll be by in a few.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  Daisy shook her head at me like she pitied me before she left, but I didn’t care. I went to the bathroom and found a face cloth that smelled reasonably clean and wet it with cold water. I brought it back and laid it on Ivy’s forehead.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she asked.

  “Miscarriage,” I told her. We didn’t lie to each other at the motel, not unless it was necessary. “The doctor’s coming.”

  “Shit,” she groaned, writhing in pain. “I hate that asshole.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be okay.”

  She looked at me. “You always say that.”

  I tried to smile. “And I’m always right.”

  She snorted, closing her eyes as she suddenly cried out. She grabbed for my hand and I let her squeeze it, even though I thought she was going to break my fingers.

  How could Mitch not know? This wouldn’t have happened if he made the johns all use condoms. If he took care of us with as much attention as he did his pretty face. His “money maker” as he called it. There were times when I remembered to hate him.

  This was one of them.

  Ivy was quiet except for little moans of pain. The doctor—that slimy bastard—arrived about fifteen minutes later. I stood out of the way as he examined Ivy, wincing every time I saw more than I wanted. They were going to need to put new sheets on the bed—probably a new mattress. Ivy cried until he gave her a shot of something that put her to sleep.

  When he was done, he stripped off his gloves and tossed them in the garbage. He winked at me. “Better her than you, huh, red?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Mitch came in. Doc gave him more antibiotics for her and something for any pain. I listened with half an ear as he told him everything that needed to be done.

  “No pussy action for two weeks,” he said. Mitch swore. “Oral or anal only. I mean it. She’ll be real messed up if you don’t make sure all that stuff’s come out. Start using that spermicide I gave you.”

  My gaze jumped to Mitch. He was still frowning. “Didn’t think they needed it when they’re on the fucking pill.”

  “Yeah, well, surprise,” Doc said.

  He could have prevented this. Could have saved Ivy all this pain. I could have shoved those discarded bloody gloves down his throat until he choked on them.

  “Now, about my fee?”

  I braced myself. I knew Mitch was going to point at me before he even raised his hand. It was my punishment for asking him to help Ivy. At least I wouldn’t have being in his debt hanging over my head.

  Doc grinned. “Red. It’s been a while.”

  I stepped forward—a little unsteady because the pills I’d taken before he came were kicking in. I knew it would be me he got, and I’d prepared. Doc was not known for being gentle. He never left marks you’d notice—he left them in places most people don’t see.

  He gestured to the bed that usually belonged to Rose, but was going to belong to me for the next few days. Mitch would make me look after Ivy. He thought that was punishment too. He wasn’t as smart as he thought.

  “Hands on the bed, sweetheart,” Doc said.

  I did what he said, but in my head I was already leaving. When the door closed behind Mitch, I heard the familiar unzipping of a fly, and I opened one of the many doors in my head. Fingers grabbed at me as I crossed the threshold and …

  … escaped.

  * * *

  Detective Willis is at the house when I arrive home after school on Wednesday. Elsa comes in behind me. I told her it was okay, but she insisted on coming with me to hear about the plea hearing.

  Isis runs to meet me and I scoop her up in my arms, holding her wiggling body close. Detective Willis looks apprehensive, and Krys looks upset.

  “There’s not going to be a trial, is there?” I ask. I’m not surprised.

  “What?” Elsa cries before anyone else can speak. She looks at me, indignant—like I made it happen.

  Detective Willis clears her throat. “No, but they aren’t getting away with what they did, Alexa.”

  “What did they get?” Elsa demands. “A slap on the wrist?”

  The detective draws a heavy breath. “They entered a plea agreement. Each of them got probation and is not
allowed to come anywhere near you. Mike has also been ordered to attend regular sex offender meetings. They’re being punished.”

  Punished. Ha. Mitch could teach the justice system a little about punishment.

  “No,” I say. “They’re getting away with it. Next year they’ll be eighteen, and it will be like it never even happened.”

  “It’s still on their academic record,” she counters. “It will affect them getting into college. And you can go forward with the civil suit.”

  “Oh, we will,” Krys promises. There’s a vicious gleam in her eyes I’ve never seen before.

  Detective Willis nods. “Each of the boys has also been ordered to apologize to you, either in person or in writing—whichever you’re more comfortable with.”

  I frown. “I don’t want their apologies. You think they’re going to mean it?”

  “It’s been court-ordered. They have to do it,” she tells me.

  “I don’t care. It doesn’t change what they did. Saying the words isn’t going to make them actually sorry. They’re only sorry they got caught—and now they get to laugh about getting away with it.” Isis whines, like she can feel my anger. I kiss the top of her head. “It’s okay, baby girl,” I tell her softly.

  But it’s not. So far, the only person that has paid for anything that’s been done to me is me.

  “The whole bunch of them are probably going to go to college next year,” Elsa says, voice shaking. “And now they know how to get away with rape.”

  “A lot of colleges have a zero-tolerance policy for sexual assault. They’ll be lucky if anyone accepts them, and at eighteen, they will be tried as adults,” Detective Willis reminds her.

  “Well, I’m sure that will make it all better for the girls they rape after their birthdays,” she fires back. She seems ten feet tall in that moment, and I love her so much.

  Detective Willis slumps back in her chair. “Look, I know this sucks. No, really, I can’t imagine how you must feel. It’s not what I hoped for, but it is something. The first thing those colleges they apply to are going to see is that each one of them was expelled from school for sexual assault. It’s going to limit their choices severely.”