Bombshells, page 25
He leans forward in the chair, props his elbows on his knees with the Coke bottle grasped loosely in his fingers. He’s not smiling. “What does that goofy look mean?”
I sit up and put the book on the floor next to my feet. “Well, I might have said something like that to Steph.”
“Why?”
“C’mon, Kev. You know her.” I guess I might as well tell the truth. “She kept bugging me and I had to tell her something. She’s the one who suggested that you kiss me.”
He lifts his left eyebrow. “What?”
The word seems to suck all the air out of the room. I draw my knees up to my chest, dangling my toes off the edge of the sofa. Taking a deep breath, I try to explain. “Steph got this crazy idea that we should have our first kiss by the Sadie Hawkins Dance, but then Cherie ran off and we didn’t go to the dance.” I give him a weak grin. “She’s been bugging me ever since.”
“So, how did I get into this?”
“When you got here…” I pause. He’s scowling across the room at me. Steph’s big mouth is going to cause big trouble this time. I swallow again. “Steph said you’d probably kiss me.”
He leans back in his chair and takes another drink of his Coke.
I try to laugh, but it sounds like a croak. “You know, stupid girl stuff. Just kidding around. Besides, I thought guys liked having a reputation.” Maybe I’m on to something here. I rush on. “If you think about it, I just helped you get yours going a little, that’s all.” I get up and carry my Coke bottle to the kitchen and put it in the carton with the other empties, so we can return them and get our deposit money back.
He follows me.
I turn to face him. “Look, I’m sorry if it upset you. I’ll tell anybody you want me to that you didn’t kiss me. I don’t want to embarrass you or anything. I swear, I didn’t think Stephanie would tell anyone at all.”
“It’s not a big deal.” He puts his Coke bottle in the carton next to mine. He takes a step toward me. “Do you want me to kiss you, Melanie?”
My heart stops for a second, then beats double time. I shake my head.
“If you need to be kissed so bad, if you’ve never had a kiss, I guess I could help you out.” He touches my cheek. “You’re not really bad-looking.”
“Gee, thanks.” Giggles fizz inside me, but I manage to hold them back to a small laugh. “You’re not that bad yourself.”
He steps closer. “You do need to be kissed.” He slips his hand behind my head and pulls me toward him.
Yeah, I think. I do want Kevin to kiss me. I know it won’t be like Robert’s kiss, but that kiss seems like a fairy tale, now that I know Robert gave Brooke her first French kiss.
Kevin’s kiss would be real, not a fairy tale. A real kiss from a boy my own age.
My heart slows, pounding steadily against my ribs. I feel bold. This must be what Aunt Lola feels like, I think. She knows what she wants, and she goes after it.
Yeah, I do want to be kissed. Right now.
Suddenly, the air seems thinner. Tension stretches from where Kevin’s fingers touch my neck, all the way through me, to deep inside. To the same place that had come alive when Robert’s lips had touched mine.
I want that feeling again. I want that feeling to grow, to expand and fill me, like I expect it will. Like it didn’t have a chance to when Robert kissed me. I close my eyes for a second and think about the color red.
This feeling inside me must be what the red satin panties are like. Warm, smooth, slippery. Waiting for a surprise.
When I open my eyes, Kevin’s face is closer, so close it’s almost like looking through a magnifying glass. Everything seems so clear and sharp, my eyes hurt. Every scent so strong, my nose burns. Kevin’s breath is syrupy, sweet and thick, like Coca Cola. I can see the slivers of black in his brown irises, even though his lids are half-closed.
He puts his other hand on my shoulder and jerks me flat against him. His lips come down over mine. They’re hard, just like I told Steph in my lie.
I wait a second, not moving, hoping that he’ll soften a little. The sensation that had begun to bloom inside me shrinks.
His hard mouth presses against mine until I feel my teeth cutting into the puffy inside of my lips. I move, trying to release the pressure.
He squirms against me, shoves me back against the counter until it presses into my hips.
This isn’t right. I can’t breathe. I turn my face, trying to gulp some air.
Kevin turns too, smashing his mouth down even harder. Grinding his lips against mine, until he opens his mouth and pushes his tongue against my tightly-pursed lips.
I want him to stop. He needs to stop. I try to lift my arms to push him away, but they’re pinned against my side as he slides his arms from my shoulders, drawing me away from the counter and pressing me closer against him. His hand moves down my back to my bottom.
He pinches me. Hard.
I jerk backward against the counter top, feeling the edge bite into my waist. Needle pricks of pain dart over my hips and legs. He grinds his hard thing against my belly. Nausea rolls through me.
My mouth opens on a reflex. I need to scream, but he smothers my cry. He shoves his tongue into my open mouth. My throat closes. I’m choking and gagging. I try to breathe, to draw air into my lungs. My eyes burn with tears as I stare at him.
I can’t believe this is happening. Finally, he breaks the kiss and pulls away, panting.
“Is that what you wanted?” He’s breathing shallow and fast. His lips are wet and shiny, lifted at the edges in an ugly sneer. “How’s that for a first kiss?” He slides his hand up my rib cage until his thumb rests just beneath my breast. “Now, I’ll let you know what else happens when boys kiss girls. Especially girls like you and Stephanie. Girls who ask for it. Girls who end up like Cherie.”
I try to shake my head, to deny his accusation. He’s wrong. Stephanie talks big, but she’s a nice girl. Before I can speak, his mouth slams against mine again, bending my head back. My stomach turns over and cold chills race along my arms. A sick feeling washes through me and I groan.
“You like it, don’t you?” he snarls against my mouth.
The counter digs deeper into my back. He moves his whole hand over my left breast and squeezes.
I hate it!
“Too much,” he mutters and slides his hand beneath my shirt. His fingers feel like ice needles against my skin. “All boys want to do this, Melanie.”
I shove against his shoulders, but he’s got all his weight pushing me against the counter. I can’t make him move. I punch at him, my fists pounding against his arms and back.
He ignores my hits. His hands run over my ribcage, and then he slides his fingers under my bra. His skin feels rough, like sandpaper. His ragged, chewed fingernails dig into my tender flesh. My skin prickles and shrinks at his touch.
“Stop,” I hiss. But his mouth crashes down again. His hips grind against me, pushing me even harder against the counter top until the edge knifes into my back. I arch backward. He presses against me with such force, I can’t move.
Still holding his mouth on mine, Kevin moves his body away slightly. He grasps the neck of my shirt and pulls. Buttons fly, launching into the air then exploding onto the tile floor and counter top with precise ticks and taps. Air rushes against my skin, making me shiver.
Or is it fear that makes me shake? Because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what Kevin’s going to do. Something that I know will be terrible. Something that I’m afraid will change me forever.
I have to do something. He has to stop. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, and push against him. He pushes back, forcing me against the counter with his weight. The hard bulge in his pants grinds against me, hot and threatening.
My mind goes blank. It’s like I’m watching this happen to someone else.
He sweeps his tongue around in my mouth and a bitter tide of nausea rises in my throat. I want the sour rush of vomit to spew at him. I want the stinking, hot stream of puke to send him reeling backward. That vomit would save me. But it remains clogged in my throat, burning like acid.
He lifts my bra and with his raspy fingers pinches my nipple until I cry; a muffled, pitiful sound. He swallows it.
Barely lifting his mouth from mine, he whispers, “Feel that? How nubby it is? That means you really like this.”
I suck in a breath, urgent to deny that horrible lie, to scream at him that I hate it. I hate him. But he slides his wet lips across my face, smashes his mouth against mine again and thrusts his tongue between my teeth.
I want to hurt him. Hurt him as badly as he’s hurting me. My jaw locks. I can’t move.
Shame at my weakness washes over me. I should be stronger. I should be able to stop this.
I should be able to stop all of these feelings rushing through me. I should be able to control the way my body reacts. I should be able to make myself numb.
Instead, electricity pulses through me, every nerve on alert, eager to warn me of each new danger, each new threat. And worse, every nerve still seems hungry for something that had been promised but not delivered.
That’s the worst shame, the biggest betrayal.
Pressing his hot mouth against my neck, he runs his tongue along the rigid muscles tightening around my throat. I don’t think I can hold up much longer. I feel wilted inside, shrunken and small.
Like a steam iron hissing over my throat, his breath burns as he whispers, “I could give you a hickey. You’d like that, too. But then it would be hard to keep our secret.” He lifts his head and stares at me. “But no one will see this unless you show them. That would mean you’re proud of it.”
His fingers squeeze again and he lowers his mouth to my exposed breast. He sucks hard, so hard it feels like his teeth are sinking into it. His breath is hot against my skin his rough fingers pinch my nipple.
Sensations rush over me. Pain. Shame. It seems that deep inside me, the place where my soul is, denies the vibrations thrumming through me. My soul slams closed.
Kevin slips his other fingers into the waistband of my slacks. He fumbles with one hand to lower the side zipper.
I wiggle sideways against the counter, trying to slide away from him. But he braces his arm on the counter beside me while he shoves his other hand into the gaping opening of my slacks, beneath the waistband of my white cotton panties. Suddenly, his fingers are digging into the tender skin between my legs.
Tears flood my eyes. “No!” I shift my weight, shoving against him with my whole body. I manage to gain some space between me and the counter, but before I can break free, he lurches against me, forcing my back against the counter once more.
“I know this is what you want,” he hisses against my mouth, his fingers hard and rough in a place I don’t even touch myself. “Robert and Brooke do this. It’s what all of you sluts want.”
An image of Robert and Brooke tangled with each other blooms in my mind. So ugly. So awful. I feel myself fold and shatter into a million shards of hurt. There’s no air, no muscle, no bones in me.
The telephone rings.
Kevin jumps like he’s been struck by lightning. He steps away from me, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth.
I clutch my shirt together with trembling fingers. I move away from the counter, into the open, where I can run and not be trapped. I take a step, ready to escape.
The phone rings again.
Panting, he grabs my arm, shoving me toward the phone. “If you say anything, I swear I’ll make it sound like you started it, like you wanted it.” He swallows hard. “Because you did.”
Oh my God. I had wanted his kiss in the beginning. How could this big, horrible lie have a grain of truth in it?
The phone rings again.
His fingers dig into my arm. “You hang around with Steph, who’s a slut like her sister. Everyone will believe me.”
I lift my head, anger rising beneath the hurt. My parents will never believe him. They love me. They trust me.
Or they had trusted me until Brooke talked me into smoking. I blink back tears. Never would I let Kevin see me cry.
Another ring.
As if he read my mind, he says, “Even your folks. They know the score, Mellie.” He shoves me toward the phone.
The shrill, insistent phone cuts through the fog in my mind. I’ll be able to get help now. I grab the receiver off the wall, the other hand clutching the front of my blouse together. The waistband of my pants hangs open. Shame burns through me. “Hello?” My voice is shaky.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
I whimper, “Daddy.”
“Are you okay?”
I swallow and open my mouth to scream no, but he starts talking again. “Listen, I’ve got to run, but tell Mama I have to work late, okay? I should be home by seven.”
He pauses a second and says something to someone in his office. “Okay, bye.” And he hangs up.
How could he not know how much I need him? How did he miss it?
Kevin stares at me, waiting for the phone call to end. I know he’s standing there to make certain I don’t tell Daddy what happened. But Kevin doesn’t know Daddy hung up. Kevin doesn’t know that Daddy’s working late. I can make Kevin leave now.
I look away from him so he can’t read my face. “You’re on your way home now, Daddy? You’ll be here in a few minutes? Great. Bye.”
My whole body shakes as I hang up the phone. Swallowing hard, I turn to face Kevin, my blouse still clutched closed in my trembling fingers.
He looks shaken. His eyes are wide with fear. He rubs his hand across his forehead as if he can erase what he’s done. He turns and runs out of the house.
I stand in the dimly lit kitchen. Kneeling to scoop up the tiny white buttons from the floor, I wonder where Mama is. Why isn’t she home yet?
Words swirl in my head like trash caught in a tornado. Kevin saying, “Your folks know the score.” Daddy saying, “She’s lucky I didn’t give her what she wanted.” My lie to Steph. “Kevin kissed me.” Maybe somehow I started this.
I remember every nasty joke I’ve ever heard. Every wicked comment about sex and trashy women floods through me, making me feel dirty and damaged. Then I hear my mother screaming at me, “Melanie, I’m so disappointed in you. How could do such a thing?”
In the bathroom I look at myself in the mirror.
My stomach pitches and bile crowds my throat. I vomit until I have dry heaves.
I need help. I have to talk to somebody. There has to be someone.
I can never talk to Steph about this. Never. I want to blame the whole thing on her big mouth. I want this to be all her fault, but inside, I know that isn’t fair. I told the first lie.
I wash my face and brush my teeth. I scrub my face dry with the towel.
How long before Mama gets home? How can I tell her? She’ll think I’m terrible. And I am.
I am like Aunt Lola.
I need to talk to someone. And then, as though a chime rings in my head, I know.
Flossie.
I toss the towel onto the floor. I need to talk to Flossie.
I march down the hall to my parents’ room. I scoop all the change from Daddy’s dresser. I glance at the alarm clock. If I run, there is still time to catch the five o’clock bus.
I shove the change into my pocket along with the buttons and dash into my room, tearing the destroyed shirt from my shoulders. I stuff it under my bed, way back against the wall, where I’ll never have to see it again. I grab a sweatshirt from the bottom dresser drawer and pull the warm softness over my tender skin.
Slamming the front door behind me, I run down the street, stretching my stride and pumping my arms, running harder than I ever have in my life. After four blocks, I arrive at the city bus stop, breathless and sobbing, skidding to a halt just as the driver pulls up.
Flossie will be able to help me. I just have to find her.
MELANIE
The city bus stops at the curb, its engine belching diesel exhaust. When the driver opens the door, the inside of the bus lights up like a stage full of silent actors, their lines recited for the day, as they wait for the curtain of night to fall.
As I march down the narrow aisle, I feel like I’ve entered another country. These people don’t live in my world. They travel into it and through it. They earn their living in my neighborhood, but they live somewhere else.
As I pass each row, heads turn and gazes follow me. I lower my head and drop into a seat, trying to hide my swollen eyes and red nose. The driver closes the door with a hiss, and the lights dim. With a mechanical sigh, the brakes release and the engine roars as we merge into traffic.
Streetlights and headlights strobe through the bus, slicing time into light and dark, like the thoughts that keep cutting into my mind.
In the dark, I remember Daddy and Lola, dancing, touching, kissing.
In the light, I remember Mama and Daddy, laughing, holding each other, loving one another.
In the dark, Mrs. Winston and Robert, her hunger, his shame.
In the light, Robert kissing me, the quivering in my soul, the weightless feeling that lifted me above the earth.
Soon, the driver turns off Northern Boulevard onto Ridgewood Avenue. Not so much traffic, more sparsely spaced streetlights. More darkness. Longer darkness.
In the dark, Kevin.
In the dark, his bruising fingers.
In the dark, his pushing, probing tongue.
In the dark, Kevin’s words. Robert does this to Brooke. You like this, don’t you?
In the light, that was the darkest hurt, the deepest wound, the thing that drains the soul out of me.
In the light, those words kindle a fiery anger. I did not like it. I did not want it. I did not ask for it.
Tears burn my eyes. A hot lump scorches my throat. I clench my fists and pound my legs in silent fury.
I think about what Robert had said when he’d tried to explain about Mrs. Winston. She’s too hungry. I’m afraid she won’t leave anything for me.
