Swell (3 page)

“It’s perfect. Every detail.” His eyes remained on my face until I put it down against my chest, my heart trembling against my chin. He seemed like he was about to kiss me, but instead went to his car and brought out a jug of wine. It was already open.

“Want some?” he asked, holding the bottle up to me. It smelled like our first meet at the toga dance.

“No thanks.”

He shrugged and took a big drink, his lips moist with wine when he smiled.

“This is a good Cab. I had my boss buy it especially for tonight.” Christian worked behind the scenes at a local bank doing admin stuff. He must have been a good worker to earn booze pimping privileges.

After taking another sip, Christian sat back on the wall and closed his eyes. The wine was doing its magic, warming him from head to toe. He seemed more loose with each drink.

“Do you drink a lot?” I asked.

“Whenever I can. It helps me relax.”

He sat up and put the jug between his legs.

“My dentist is your dad,” I offered, looking for his reaction.

A shit-eating grin spread across his face as he shook his head.
“He’s everyone’s dentist. How’d you think I got this smile?” He tapped his long fingers against his teeth.

“Do you remember me at all… from before the dance?” I wondered if he recalled the girl with the hanky on her head, kneeling like a good artist in front of the heart and soul that was her work.

He squinted. “You do look familiar.”

“I painted the tooth mural in your dad’s office.” He nodded, took another sip of wine and rubbed an imaginary spill from his leg.

“Yeah, that’s a cool painting. I remember you… you had a towel or something on your head.”

“It was a handkerchief, to protect my hair.”

He reached out to hold a lock of my hair, clamping his fingers across the strands and running them down to the ends where they sat just above my breast.

“Good thing you did that, because you have beautiful hair.” He moved close, put his hand on my face and kissed me. Covered in wine, our first kiss felt warm and deceitful, like something was hidden behind it. Rather than over-analyze things, I let it go and enjoyed the moment.

Chapter 3

For a moment, I forgot that the drunk girl was me, until I realized these guys thought they were going to screw the hell out of me, or something worse if that was possible.

But my body wouldn’t move. The booze made everything floppy, otherwise I would have shoved The Squeezer’s hands off my tits and made a break for it.

“Hillman’s all over it, cause it’s
her
.” The lawn mower was now moving faster, whipping around street corners and making my stomach lurch. I thought if I could throw-up then maybe I would be able to fight back, or at least hide somewhere.

≈

It was Christian’s 17
th
birthday, and I baked him cookies as a gift. It seemed so innocent the afternoon that I’d made them. My parents were out and I decided to try a little wine from the fridge. I didn’t drink too much because, after all, they’d know i
f a considerable amount of it went missing.

Just Chablis, no big deal, until I felt what it did for me.
Drifting on a magical bed of Gallo, happy and unconcerned about anything and everything, I was a cheap date after only one glass.

The cookies came out good, and I gave them to Christian at school. He shoved two into his mouth at a time, appreciating my homemade present.

I teased him. “Don’t you know that sweets are bad for your teeth? What kind of dentist’s son are you?”

Christian smiled, melted chocolate chips peppering his teeth like tobacco road.

“It’s okay to be bad sometimes,” he said, planting a chocolate kiss on my lips.

After I’d given Christian his cookies, I stopped at the school library to pick up a book. There was a paper due on Romeo and Juliet and I needed help. As much as I wanted to say that I read the story with a passion, I really wanted to read something more interesting and racy. That was the problem with some of the other books I’d picked up, only to put down — they were happy-go-lucky, with characters who said darn instead of damn, and nobody had sex. To me, that wasn’t the real world. Now, Romeo and Juliet had its juicy scenes, but plodding through Shakespearean verbiage dampened the appeal for me.

The square library had pillars every few rows and tables tucked in between. You could play hide and seek in there. I stood between pillars in the Classics section, thumbing through a book and thinking about how much Christian liked me. It felt warm, like wine in my tummy.

I thought the library was almost empty, until I heard them. A few coughs, some muttering and then audible words.

“What’s Rusch doing? He’s stupid.”

“He’s just taking advantage of her. Like he always does with freshmen.”

“Yeah, but he hasn’t dumped this one yet.”

I peeked my head out to see three guys sitting with their feet up, chewing on pencils and ignoring the books in front of them.

“Hillman thinks she’s cute. He’s stupid, too, if you ask me,” said a borderline fat jock with no neck.

“Wish he’d do her and get it over with,” said the one with blond hair. His pale skin glowed under the fluorescents like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

The third participant, a surfer-looking guy with shaggy hair, sat up and smiled.

“I’ll do her if he doesn’t!” He slapped a hi-five with Fat Jock before standing up. The rest followed him out of the library. I stayed glued to my pillar, lungs filled with air that wouldn’t leave. After five minutes, I slinked like a lion to the checkout desk. The librarian, Ms. Mulford, didn’t look me in the eye once during the transaction.

I left the library through the side door, which took me behind a row of bushes around the office. There were no jocks or jerks to be seen, so I went to the bathroom and locked myself in a stall, allowing the fear of crying to overtake me. If I wasn’t careful, someone would hear my sobs as I thought about the mean boys in the library. They didn’t know me, and didn’t have a right to judge me like a piece of meat.

There’s only so much time one can spend in the school bathroom, with its mucky floors covered in watery dirt, the ever-present overflowing handicapped toilet and sinks stuffed with paper towels and tampons. No wonder the school janitor was a grumpy bastard.

I stepped out of the smelly pit because I had to meet Christian for a ride home. He drove a giant SUV nicknamed the Partymobile. It was his dad’s old family taxi, a sort of metal flake meets Duggar family vehicle that seated ten people in luxurious comfort. A mattress could fit in the back.

I stood on the curb alongside the parking lot, clutching my
Romeo and Juliet
cheaters book, watching the exodus of kids
in cars.
They jingled their keys, knowing they were in control of their transportation. I couldn’t wait to drive, and though I had my learner’s permit, my mom and dad were less than excited to teach me the ropes. The last time I’d gone out with my dad, he tried to instruct me on how to drive like a race car driver, using both feet on the pedals. Mind you, his car was an automatic, so it made no sense to do this. I messed up, screeching and unable to coordinate my floppy feet.

“Just go back to right foot on the gas and the brake,” he said, giving up on his dream that I would become the next Danica Patrick.

Christian was nowhere to be found, but Hillman was. His BMW slinked by me, windows down and Snoop on the stereo. He looked at me through sunglasses, flames coming off the top of his head, and then stopped the car.

“Hello,” he said, waving to me. I looked right at him and gave a nervous smile.

“Christian’s in lab right now. He wanted me to tell you.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” I said, toes crunching inside sweaty shoes that were melting into the concrete.

“I’d take you home, but, you know.” He ran his hand through his hair and just sat there, waiting for some kind of response. I couldn’t swallow or speak, but then Christian came running toward me, a stack of books under his arm. He waved to Hillman.

“Hey, thanks man. I’ll call you later,” he said. Jeff nodded and pulled away from the curb.

“He told me you were in the lab.” I shifted my purse to the other shoulder.

“I asked him to be on the lookout for you. Jeff’s a good guy.”

“Yeah,” I said, wondering if Christian knew just how good Jeff was to offer to take me home himself.

Christian smoothed back his shaggy hair. “I need to stop at home before I drop you off.”

I had never been to his house, given that we’d only been seeing each other for two weeks. However, the thought of being in Dr. Rusch’s palace made my intestines feel like they were falling out.

We drove up a steep hill to the house, which looked five times the size of mine. A rustic fountain sat in the front with palm trees around the perimeter. Christian parked the Partymobile by one of the three garages.

We entered through leaded glass doors, which took us into a foyer filled with Mexican pavers and wrought iron lighting. The peaches-and-cream-colored walls were a thick stucco, the kind that you didn’t want to lean against for too long because it would cut into your skin.  Christian took us into a giant kitchen with an island and Viking appliances that would beat the pants off my mom’s Kenmore series any day.

“Want something to drink?”

“Yes,” I replied, thinking he would give me a soda or bottle of water. Christian pulled two wine glasses from the cupboard, went to the massive fridge, and pulled out a bottle. I didn’t protest. It would probably feel good to be a little buzzed.

“Enjoy!” he said, toasting me. We clinked glasses and he downed his wine in one gulp. It took me a little longer because the liquid burned my throat on the way down, but sat ever so nicely in my tummy, which gurgled as it soaked up the goodness.

He held up the bottle. “More?”

He must have noticed my concern that someone else was present in the vacuous home. “Nobody’s here but us. Don’t worry.”

And so he poured us another glass. Again, he drank his with a quick slug. I was able to down mine with more ease the second time around, as my throat was numb from the alcohol fire.

Fuzzy. I think that was the best way to describe the effect 10 minutes later as Christian and I sat on the couch in the den. He put on MTV and we watched some skating show.

“This sucks.” Christian changed to a digital music station. The music went well with my buzz, and helped me to not stiffen when Christian put his arm around me. Up until this time, we had only held hands, hugged and kissed, but when his hand slid to my breast I let it happen. It felt odd to have a hand other than my own or my doctor’s on it.

Christian brought his lips to mine, and we made-out for a good minute before his hand found its way under my shirt and back to my breast, this time over the white bra. I still hadn’t visited a Victoria’s Secret like I’d promised myself.

I reciprocated by putting my hands under his shirt and on his back, which was smooth and soft like a small child’s leg. I’d been afraid that it would be hairy and scratchy.

The wine had extended beyond my brain and into my entire body, warming in particular my girl parts with each minute I spent kissing Christian. When he rolled on top of me, I could feel him through his clothes.

“I want you, Beck,” he moaned, running his hands along the sides of my chest, sliding his mouth to my neck and then back to my lips.

“I want you, too.” I wasn’t really sure what I meant by wanted. Wanted as in yearning for something more? Or wanted as in having sex with him? Both?

I continued moving my hands around his body, trying to bring his hips to mine, but he froze, giving me a look that was part anger and part sadness.

Christian pulled his hands from under my shirt and sat up. He adjusted himself, and leaned back against the couch.

“Beck, I don’t want to hurt you. You know that?”

“I know that,” I said, curling up against his side. He stared straight ahead and I could feel the wine turning into vinegar in my stomach.

“If we get too close, it could happen. I could really hurt you.”

“But why would it? If we take our time…”

“I’m not good with taking my time,” he said, standing up to cross the room and turn off the television.

It seemed that this was going to be the end of our after-school wine and kissing fest. And it wasn’t fair that he deemed our new relationship a dismal failure because he was afraid of hurting me.

“I’ve gotta take you home.” He pulled keys from his pocket and exited the room. I remained on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to explain to myself what had just happened. To go from being wanted one minute, then rejected the next, hurt more than the potential for being hurt if we went all the way.

I finally got up and followed Christian, but not before using a small bathroom off the foyer. I did my business while admiring the orchid sitting on the counter. Its white paper flowers and stem were wrapped around a stick andforced to look perfect for those who sat on the throne.