Dissolve (5 page)

“You are entitled to do all of those. While I’m watching.”

“Ooh, kinky,” She winks and stirs the sauce on the stove. I roll my eyes.

“I’m the least kinky person ever.”

“You’ve….but you’ve had sex before, right?” Trist’s eyes go wide. I figure she deserves the truth out of everyone in the world.

“No.”

Mr. Dowell tied me up. He stalked around me in the broom closet for an hour, detailing all the hideous things he was going to do to me with painstaking slowness. But he never touched me. He just touched himself.

My stomach churns. Suddenly the spaghetti doesn’t look so appetizing. Trist waves a sauce-covered spoon at me.

“I figured as much. Well, listen, take it at your own pace. Only do it with someone you really really like, okay? I wish somebody told me that before high school.”

“All guys want is sex,” I sigh. “They’re disgusting. The chances I’ll ever tolerate one long enough to touch him are very slim.”

Trist laughs, the sound like bells. “Sure, sure. Of course you’d say that. But I saw you on that motorcycle, girl. You dig him.”

My heart squeezes. “What?”

“Don’t try to play coy. I was in the library cramming for the midterms. I saw you and Kai get on his motorcycle. Out of all the guys in the school, you had to pick the worst playboy, huh? I love your naivety, Evelyn, but I’m kinda worried about you all the same.”

“I didn’t -” I flush. “It’s not like that, okay? He just gave me a ride home.”

“Yeah, because he gives every girl he wants to bang a ride home.” She laughs. “Seriously. Every single girl who’s rode on that motorcycle has banged him. He’s lining you up to be the next one.”

I’m quiet. Trist takes my hands and looks earnestly into my eyes.

“Promise me you won’t get your heart broken, okay? I love you to bits. I don’t wanna see you in any pain, ever.”

I smile, her concern melting away the hard edges of my irritation. I hug her, and she hugs me back.

“I know. Thank you, Trist. I love you, too.”

We part after a moment, and she points the sauce-spoon at me again.

“If you really love me, you’ll eat my spaghetti and tell me it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted!”

I giggle. “Uh, excuse me, that’s emotional blackmail.”

She gives me a bowl of spaghetti to take my room anyway. I prop open my textbook and go over my notes for the day while spooning delicious pasta into my mouth. Trist is so good at cooking - she enjoys it too, which means I benefit constantly. She so good at so many things, except understanding me. There’s no way I’d ever fall for someone like Kai Jackson. I don’t know a lot, but I know that much about myself. Besides, even if I wanted him, what kind of guy would want a girl like me - inexperienced, wearing converse and flannel and jeans all the time, with barely any makeup. This isn’t me hating on myself, this is just factual; the girls Kai likes are clearly way different than me - girls with long, silky hair where mine is short and boy-ish. Girls with legs for miles where mine are on the stubby side. Girls who know how to look beautiful, who know how to work their sex appeal in and out of the bedroom. Sex and sex appeal, to me, are pointless. It’s just something disgusting guys want all the time, without ever giving a shit about the girl’s feelings. It’s not worth it. It doubly wouldn’t be worth it with a bang ‘em and leave ‘em guy like Kai. He’d use me and throw me away like all the others. And I don’t want that.

I don’t know what I want, but right now it looks nothing like Kai Jackson’s arrogant, woman-eating swagger.

Trist spends two hours getting ready for the party - I spend ten minutes. Her face is perfect - contoured and so smooth it looks airbrushed. Her eyes are expertly lined with dark eyeliner and smudged in the appropriate places to give her an illusion of a sultry, smoky gaze. My makeup is a little sideways, one eyeliner wing a little bigger than the other, but it will do.

“Why don’t you wear more makeup?” Trist asks as we head to her car.

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

Trist nods eagerly.

“I’m scared I’ll sweat and it’ll run down my face like clown paint,” I admit. She laughs.

“You dork! It’s designed to specifically not do that.”

“I know! But I can’t get over the mental image!”

She laughs again, golden sheet of hair practically sparkling under the amber streetlight. A passing couple stares at her, the guy more entranced than the girl. She punches his arm playfully, giving him shit for looking at another girl. They go on their way. But in the car, watching Trist as she drives in her signature whiplash-inducing-stop-a-second-before-the-red-light-at-40-miles-an-hour style, I understand what they were ogling at. Trist is beautiful. Without makeup, she’s a sun-kissed classic blonde; with makeup, she’s a gorgeous diva with a killer baby-blue gaze.

“You’re more Kai’s type, you know,” I say at a stoplight. She smiles.

“You think so?”

“Definitely. He likes long hair. And otherworldly glamor.”

“Oh, stop it.” Trist blushes a little. “I swear you give me more compliments than any dudes do.”

“I feel it’s my duty,” I put on a fake-haughty voice. “To tell girls they’re beautiful, because god knows those bull-headed idiots we call men don’t do it enough, or properly.”

“That’s true,” she agrees. “All they do is wolf-whistle and yell inappropriate shit. Would it kill them to be classy about their compliments once in a while?”

I can’t answer that fast enough - before I can blink, we’re pulling up the driveway of someone’s fancy house. The gated driveway dissolves into massive green lawns decorated with stately cherry trees and coldwater fountains carved in the shape of lions and angels. The house itself glows, every window tall and spotless, every balcony made of white stone. It’s like something straight out of Martha Stewart.

“Whose house is this again?” I ask as Trist parks and we get out.

“Giselle Deacon’s, I think. Her dad’s in stocks, or whatever.”

“Christ,” I suck in a breath. Trist sees some friends going into the house and waves. She turns back to me.

“Okay, so I have my cellphone on me.” She says.

“I have mine,” I affirm.

“Great. So, we’ll text each other every thirty minutes, right?”

“Right. And no taking strange drinks from anyone, or letting your drink out of your sight.”

She smiles and salutes. “Got it! I love you, Ev. Have fun, okay? We should dance later, or something.”

“That’d be awesome.”

I watch her go into the house after catching up with her friends, thumping EDM music spilling out when a guy opens the door for them. Trist has tons of people she knows, so I understand when she peels off for most of the parties we go to. Netflix binges are usually what we do together, and I cherish them. After the incident with Mr. Dowell, I lost most of my friends. I got quiet - I tried not to talk to anyone who wasn’t Mom. Not even teachers. I couldn’t trust anyone after what happened; not even myself. The last half of Senior year was a blur. All the friends I’d worked hard to make up until that point just floated away. My grades slipped. For a while, Mom and Dad were sure I wasn’t going to get into college, let alone a place like Montcrest. But I pulled through somehow and did it. It helped I locked myself in my room most days - there was nothing to do in there except sleep, read, or study. It felt like I was imprisoned in my own private hell for a long, long time, and I was my own jailer.

But not anymore. I’m going to parties, now. I have a friend, again.

I adjust my tank top and knock on the door. A guy opens it, looks me up and down, and gives me an oily smile.

“Well hey there.”

I grimace and brush past him on my way inside. Loud music grates against my ears, but I embrace it. It’s better than thinking about the past, at least. The house is packed - every girl wearing tight jeans or tiny skirts that suit them, and every guy trying to impress them. Everyone’s tipsy - voices loud, bodies swaying to the music, lustful glances barely disguised. No one I recognize is here, so I make my way to the kitchen and marvel at the fancy appliances and paintings on the walls. The kitchen is quieter - people only ducking inside for the occasional refill of booze. Greasy, cold pizza boxes line the counter, bowls of potato chips and cookies ravaged beyond recognition. Juice and soda chasers sit in puddles of their own sugary wetness, people too drunk and sloppy to bother putting the caps back on. I do it for them. Finally, when they’re not in danger of spilling all over the nice floor, I pour myself an orange juice.

I sip and watch the party around me. The front door opens, and two people walk in - a girl with long, dirty blonde hair and leather pants, and a guy in a Grateful Dead t-shirt. A guy who looks around the party with two-toned eyes.

Shit
.

I immediately turn and add vodka to my orange juice. It’s going to be a long night, and I don’t exactly like drinking, but I’ll need it if I want to have a semblance of a nice time while he’s here. The booze will calm me, and help me ignore him - dull me to the irritating flushing effect his smirk has on me.

I drink, and gag a little. Vodka and orange juice aren’t the best combo. Too late now - I won’t let expensive booze go to waste when I’m not the one who bought it. That’d be just plain rude.

Suddenly, Kai and his blonde turn towards the kitchen. I double-time it to the door and squeeze through the crowd and into the party. I can’t let him see me. I don’t want him knowing I’m here.

Why?
A tiny voice in the back of my head asks.
He doesn’t care about you, anyway. He’s here with a much, much prettier girl. You don’t stand a chance of getting his attention, regardless.

Fair enough, weird and borderline jerky lack of self-esteem. You’re right. You win this round. Let’s ignore him and just try to have fun tonight, okay?

I nurse my drink and sit on a nearby sofa, on the very end of it so I don’t get in the way of the guy sweet-talking a very visibly drunk girl who giggles at his every word. Blech. I hope she knows what she’s doing. I hope he doesn’t hurt her.

“Aha. I knew I saw a lioness in the crowd.”

Only one person uses that word near me. I look up, Kai grinning cockily down at me. His two-tone eyes will never not make my breath stop for just a moment when I first lock eyes with him. Nature is amazing. And terrifying. But mostly buckwild and incredible. Why did it have to give such arresting eyes to such a sleazebag?

“I’m not in the mood to be harassed tonight, Kai.” I say.

“Is that what this is? Harassing?” He smirks. “I just came over when I saw you staring at the guy next to you like you wanted to rip his balls off.”

“That would solve a lot of problems, wouldn’t it? Mainly, his sex drive.”

“What do you got against him and his sex drive?”

I scoff. “He’s clearly trying to get into that girl’s pants. While she’s drunk and compromised. Which, in case you didn’t know, is a shitty thing to do.”

“Look at he poor guy - he’s equally tipsy. Maybe they’re just dumb drunk kids in lust, trying to figure this whole sex-and-attraction thing out.”

I drink more orange monstrosity, a drunk flush creeping over my face.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Men should know better than to take advantage of girls. It’s so easy for them, and girls give them so many opportunities to do it, because they trust them. They trust random boys. I hate it. They deserve better than to be used like that.”

“Whoa there,” Kai quirks a brow. “Sounds like you don’t trust anyone, let alone guys.”

“Yeah,” I grunt and drink more. “I have trust issues. Isn’t it terribly attractive? Just put that down on my dating profile - I’m sure boys will like that.”

“Who cares what they like?” Kai laughs. “Just be yourself.”

“That’s really easy for you to say,” I snap. “It’s so easy for you to be yourself, isn’t it? All you have to do is make-out with girls and ride your motorcycle around and not give a shit about messing with anyone’s heart, and that’s that. But me? I can’t be myself. It’s not safe. Not anymore. Not since -”

I pause, the words hanging in my mind and the air.

Not since that night.

“Hey,” Kai’s eyes soften, the green one catching the lamplight briefly and lighting up like a flawless peridot in a necklace. He sits on the footstool beside me, suddenly shorter than me. His long legs in his jeans stretch out. “Are you okay?”

My hand gripping my drink is shaking, the orange juice marred by little ripples on the surface. Suddenly the room is too hot, too small, every shadow holding a danger I can’t see.

“I need air,” I whisper, suddenly feeling light-headed. Everything’s a blur, but I’m somehow moving through the crowd, people parting for me, their warm bodies throwing more shadows with pain hidden in them. It’s too small. It’s like the closet. I need to get out. I need to leave -

Suddenly, cold air slaps my face. I blink - I’m standing on a patio. The sound of a sliding door resounds behind me as Kai closes it. I stare at him, confused. His face is so serious, so set and determined - nothing like his usual coy, self-satisfied expression.

“I can leave,” his voice is soft. “If you want. I just wanted to make sure you got some air, like you said.”