Diane shifts to motherly concern. She wants to press her palm to my head and feel for a fever. She wants to give me cold medicine and tea. She wants to drive me home herself. I hate myself for telling such a lie to a woman who is the very essence of kindness but in reality I truly don’t feel very well. My stomach hurts, my chest feels heavy and my throat is clogged with drowned sobs.
This is why I don’t do this. This is why I don’t allow myself to be distracted by smiles and kisses. This is why I don’t offer my heart. This is why I don’t let myself fall for anyone.
Diane seems satisfied with my promise that I’ll walk straight home and go right to bed. Ben says nothing and I do not look his way again. I can pretend he’s just part of the background. I can pretend that I don’t want to throw things at his head. I can pretend that my soul doesn’t ache.
I pretend this all the way home.
I pretend this when I tell my family I have a headache and need to lie down.
I pretend this until I am alone in my room with the door locked and the white noise of my sound machine turned up so that no one can hear me sobbing.
Then I cry myself to pieces on my pillow and wish to be divided from this frail, breakable thing that is my own heart.
Ben
“I’m not going to school today.”
My mother stops reaching for the kitchen cabinet where her favorite coffee mug lives. “What? Do you feel sick?”
“No.” I dump out the bowl of dry cornflakes because I’d been staring at it for fifteen minutes. “I’m just not going.”
“Ben, I don’t understand.” She’s got circles under her eyes and yesterday’s makeup still sticking to her skin. Her robe is a rose colored satin tent that’s frayed at the sleeves and has seen better days. Kind of like us.
“I need a day off. So I’m taking it.”
Her mouth opens and shuts. She’s struggling with the argument that I need to get my ass to school because I’m a kid and school is where I belong. Then she remembers that I’m not really a kid anymore and there’s no way to force me to go anywhere.
“All right.” She leans against the counter and stares down at her hands, which are red and calloused and self manicured with green sparkly nail polish that’s chipped at the edges.
As I wash the cereal bowl out I can feel her eyes on me. I hope I haven’t just set off an episode of worry and hand wringing. My head is full of my own problems today and I just don’t have the energy to handle hers.
A distinct thump echoes from down the hall, followed by feet shuffling toward the bathroom and then the clear noise of guttural spitting.
My fingers tighten so hard around the cereal bowl it’s a small miracle the cheap ceramic doesn’t break in half. “I didn’t know he was here.”
“Oh.” She’s instantly flustered, whipping her head around to glance down the dark hallway where her boyfriend is doing gross things in our only bathroom. “Yeah, Darren spent the night on the couch.”
She obviously thinks I’m an idiot. An idiot with no eyes. There was no one on the fucking couch when I passed through the living room a little while ago.
But for reasons unknown she wants me to like the bastard so she gives me a nervous smile and says, “It’s my day off and Darren’s going to take me Christmas shopping at the outlet mall in Pennington.”
She says this like she’s expecting a diamond ring out of the deal when in reality he’ll talk her into buying him something she can’t afford and then stick her with the lunch bill.
“You guys are taking his truck?” I ask.
She beams. “Yes, he said he’d drive.”
“Can I borrow your car then?”
“Why? I thought you didn’t feel well enough to go to school.”
“I just need to borrow it today.”
She frowns, processing the request. I make an effort not to sigh with frustration. It’s very rare that I ask to borrow her car. It’s rare that I ask her for a damn thing.
“Look, I’ll have it back in the carport this afternoon and I’ll top off the fuel tank, okay?”
Finally she nods. “All right. You can borrow the car, Ben. I’ll call your school and tell them you’re sick today so you don’t get in trouble.”
I don’t care if I get in trouble. And I don’t expect to accomplish anything by ditching. I just don’t feel like pretending to be Ben Beltran today.
Dirtbag comes straggling into the room looking like he’s just tumbled through a spin cycle.
“No breakfast?” he complains by way of a greeting.
“I’ll get you something,” my mother says, bustling around in search of something to feed Dirtbag. He helps himself to a seat at the table and I’m in danger of dry heaving when I see him make a grab for my mom’s rear end.
However, she seems pleased, turning around with a smile and then briefly running her fingers through his greasy hair. I’ll never get over my disbelief about seeing my beautiful, intelligent mother go from being treated like a queen by my father to hunting crumbs of affection from losers like Darren.
“Get me some coffee too,” Dirtbag orders my mother and then notices that I also live here. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“Shouldn’t you have a job?”
“Watch your mouth, junior.”
“Eat shit, asshole.”
He pouts and addresses my mother. “Michele, your kid’s got a hell of an attitude. You know I work plenty. I deserve some time off.”
My mother is uneasy, looking from one of us to the other. “I really wish you would both make an effort to get along.”
No, I won’t be making an effort do a damn thing except extend my middle finger. Apparently Dirtbag feels the same way because he waits until my mother’s back is turned and then he gives a hard kick to my right kneecap. It’s more annoying than painful and I throw him a look that’s supposed to say ‘Are you fucking serious?’ but he doesn’t get the message because he just grins like a cartoon cat.
This clown really ought to think twice about challenging me. He’s twice my age, his gut looks as soft as a pillow and I know how to pack a punch. Bennet Drexler was a third degree black belt and Ben Beltran got to keep those skills, which came in handy after arriving in rough and tumble Devil Valley. I must have been in ten fights within my first month here and only after I squashed both the McGill brothers in one battle did everyone else decide that I was worth some respect. The McGills never gave me any trouble after that but I’m sure the memory sticks with them. Which is why they backed right the fuck off the day I made it known that Camden Galway is off limits.
I get a pain when I think about it now, the way she’d dashed into the store with her eyes wide, looking over her shoulder because the dreaded McGills were hunting her. The brothers live just down the street in a corner house where the front yard always looks like a landfill. They prey on anyone they believe is an easy target and I would have gone out of my way to keep any girl out of their trashy claws. But the fact that they were coming after Camden made me feel especially primal even then, even before it truly dawned on me that she was really special. I would have gladly suffered a few bruises to keep her safe. And maybe I should have told her that straight up, instead of being a dick and playing hot and cold games for weeks.