Pieces of Us (12 page)

Alex

K
atya and I head for the creek, blanket, picnic and cheap wine in tow. I even bought pink plastic wine glasses so they matched the strawberry wine. I thought Katya would get a kick out of that, but she keeps eyeing the wine, all nervous.

I don’t do picnics. I don’t do slow. But for her, I want to. What’s up with that? And what’s up with that sour look on her face? I grab her and put her on my back, piggyback-style, and she squeals in surprise.

“Giddyup!” she says, giggling, grabbing my ass.

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” I grab her ass with my palms and squeeze and she laughs as we run down the hill.

We sit on the grass and throw rocks into the water, watching them jump and shit. I open my backpack and take out two peanut-butter-and-jam sandwiches and pink napkins.

Katya smiles. “Nice touch,” she says, pointing to the napkins. She takes a big bite out of the sandwich. There’s jam on the side of her mouth and she brushes it away, embarrassed. The girls back home don’t care about that shit. They’d just keep chowing down like pigs and open their mouth to show the evidence, too.

“Anything for you,” I say, and pull her to me and kiss her on the cheek.

I pour wine into a cup, and she looks at it like it’s poison. I guess I was wrong thinking she’d drink. Doesn’t everyone? But this is Katya. Maybe she’s a Puritan or something. No sex, no drinking. That may be a little much for me. “You don’t drink?”

She looks sick, like she just downed three bottles all by herself. “I haven’t in a long time.”

“Badass hangover or something? I’ve been there.”

“Something like that.” She nibbles on the sandwich.

Maybe she was stupid drunk the last time. Lost it and showed someone her boobs. The idea makes me laugh out loud and she looks at me like I’m crazy. There’s no way she would do that, but I’ve seen a lot worse. Maybe she just lost control. Some chicks don’t like that at all.

“Hey,” I say, my voice soft because her eyes still look spooked. “It’s okay. It’s just you and me, and you’ll be totally safe. I promise.”

She relaxes a little, looks around like she wants to make sure I’m not fooling or something. “Promise?” she asks, and her voice sounds younger than Julie’s.

“You know it,” I say. “I’d never hurt you.” I’ve never said those words before, let alone thought them. I feel around my mouth with my tongue, trying to see if they really came out of me.

She looks at me, her eyes big. “I believe you wouldn’t. You’re not like all the other guys.”

And I feel like a shit, because I am. Just not with her.

She finishes her sandwich, licks each finger while staring into my eyes, and drinks the entire cup of wine.

“Whoa! Hold on there, killer,” I say when she starts to pour herself another. She grabs the bottle away from me and pours another cup. I lunge for it, but she chugs it down before I can stop her.

“I can hack it,” she says. This should disgust me, this lush party-girl act, but it doesn’t. Maybe because her eyes look scared.

I play along. “Oh yeah?” I pull her down to my lap.

“Yeah,” she whispers. She leans her head against my chest and picks up a pebble. She throws it into the creek, and it skips twice. I do the same, and we stare at the creek for a few minutes, just throwing pebbles. Katya takes the bottle of wine from the dirt, swaying a little, then stares me in the eyes like she’s daring me to stop her. I don’t, and she chugs down more than half the bottle.

“I told you I could hack it,” she says, then kisses me deep and hard.

I push her down on the grass. She claws at my chest and jeans and then she’s on top of me, her hand working double time inside my jeans. I cup her boobs through her shirt, and she moans.

I want her so bad, and she looks at me like she knows I’m about to burst. She reaches for the Boone’s and chugs more. Then she’s back on top, kissing me harder, moving her hand faster.

“Jesus!”

She moves her mouth down, and I’m so close.

She stops.

“Don’t stop,” I say.

“Don’t you want to be inside me?”

Oh my fucking God. Those words are so hot, and I want that. I turn us over so I’m on top and fumble with the buttons on her shirt.

“I wantsh you to,” she says. “Please.” She moves my hand to the zipper of her jeans.

But she’s slurring her words now, and her eyes are not there.

I catch my breath. The parade of whores flash before my eyes, and she’s not them. “Not like this,” I pant.

She moves my hand between her legs. I pull it back. “Why? You a virgin?” she murmurs.

If she only knew. “Not for a long time,” I say.

“Then why not? I’m not as innocent as you think.”

“You’re innocent enough. I’m not fucking you while you’re bombed.”

“We’ll see,” she says, pushing me off her. Gets on top of me again.

Fuck. This is so fucking hard. I’m so fucking hard. She’s rubbing against me, and I explode.

“See? You have all that power without even screwing me.”

“But I wanted to,” she says quietly.

“I know, baby. Me too, but when we do it, it will be when you’re sure and sober. I’m not going to be that asshole who needs to get a girl wasted so she’d fuck me.”

She moves close to me, and suddenly she’s crying. Oh hell. “I’m not what you think I am,” she says between sobs.

Oh geez. Is this because she hooked up with Julie’s ex? She’s been talking about that more, since Wild West City. I’ve seen a lot worse. “You’re what I want.”

She shakes her head. “Not if you knew me. The real me.”

I get it. This is the Philly-Jersey shit. Well, I don’t want to hear it. “Katya is all I need to know.”

She’s passing in and out of consciousness now and mumbling things.

“What’s that, baby?” I ask.

“Two people,” she says. “Have you ever done it with two people?”

“Like two girls?”

“No,” she says, all sarcastic. “With two guys.”

“I thought that what happens in Philly and Jersey stays in Philly and Jersey,” I say. “It’s a good rule.” I thought it was a stupid-ass rule when I first heard it—to the extent she wanted to keep the worlds private, anyway. But I don’t like where this conversation is going, and I’m more afraid of whatever the hell she wants to reveal about herself than telling her anything about me.

“Aw, c’mon. I just want to know more about the real Sasha.” She shifts her body and moves her hand south. I move it and place it on my stomach.

She doesn’t want to know more about the real me than I want to know more about guys she’s hooked up with.

“How about we start with baby steps. You can start by calling me Alex, and I’ll call you Katie instead of Katya. It will be like we’re two different people.” I wink at her.

“No,” she says slowly, but I know she’s not going to finish the thought. Her eyes close. She passes out beside me, and I stare at her half-naked body for a few seconds before rebuttoning her shirt and wrapping her in a blanket. With our grandparents in the cottages, I can’t bring her back to them. So I lie down beside her and put my arms around her to keep her warm. Then I close my eyes and hope she won’t bring up shit when she’s sober.

Katie

F
uck! What time is it?” I scramble to my feet and fall back down as the sun hits my eyes and the world spins.

Sasha looks at me, amused. “One bottle of cheap-ass wine is all it takes to get you trashed? Lucky me.”

I smirk at him, but any movement makes the ground spin. “Shut up,” I say, but not with much oomph, and then turn away from him and throw up. The trees and grass spin, and a world of green rushes at me. I throw up again. I’ve been here before. I shiver. I tell myself it’s not the same. I’m with Sasha. Last night was fun. Nothing bad happened.
It’s all good.
It’s all good. It’s all good.
I’m dizzy again, and now covered in cold sweat.

“Just lie back down. I saw Julie this morning and she told your grandparents you got up early and went for a run. She was in a good mood.”

I don’t face him as I wipe the spittle from the corners of my mouth and the ends of my hair. “Disgusting,” I mumble. “I told you I don’t drink anymore.”

“You’re saying that like I made you. I tried to
stop
you.” He laughs.

I remember more. He stopped us from having sex, too. Even though I threw myself at him. How did I get so lucky with him?

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For not sleeping with me.” I don’t even want to look at him.

“No worries. Glad you’re so willing, though.” He winks at me and kisses the top of my head.

“I remember you avoiding my questions, too,” I say, still facing away from him. Why do I bring this up again? To see how far I can take it? To see if he’ll run?

“Do you really want to know everything about me?” he says to my back. “Do you really want me to know everything about you?”

I shrug. I don’t.

“You can’t even look at me because you’re afraid of what I’ll think of your puke breath. I think that’s your answer.”

“Speaking of puke, I should clean myself up. I’ll see you later.” I get up, aware that I’m pouting. I stumble, and he catches me at the waist before I fall.

“Let me know when the stink is gone,” he says, laughing. He kisses me on the cheek.

I walk up the hill slowly, my body aching. I say the name
Alex
in my head. I whisper it so quietly I can barely hear it myself. I taste how it feels in my cotton-mouth. It feels wrong, bitter. And I know that Sasha’s right. I don’t really want to know everything. And I can’t let him know Katie either.

Julie

H
ow was your run?” I ask, a little too loudly, when Katie walks in looking like shit.

“God, not so loud,” she says. “Thanks for covering for me, though.” She looks toward the shower but then shakes her head and crawls into her bed.

“Seriously? You’re not going to clean that stench up? Babushka will smell you in the next room.”

“I’ll take care of it. Just need a few minutes.” She pulls the blanket over her head. “How was your night?” she mumbles.

“Good.”

We played Spit in his room and when his hand brushed mine, he didn’t move it away. When it was time to go home, he walked me to the door because it was late and dark. But there was no hug or kiss. There
was
a lingering of his fingers on mine. I don’t tell Katie any of this; I learned my lesson last time. But there’s this blinking thought in my head, like those yellow lights that mean to proceed with caution. It’s telling me he may have looked at me as more than his favorite Spit player, but not in the shy, stumbling, red-in-the-face way he looks at Katie. I try to shut off the blinking.

“Just good?” She sounds disappointed.

“No tonsil hockey,” I offer.

“Sorry,” she says and groans into her pillow. “God, I am so hungover. So if you don’t need any sisterly advice, I’m going to crash.”

“You have my permission to be a bum.”

Katie’s breathing deepens and I look out the window. Kyle is sitting on the bench by our cottage, playing cards in hand. He looks toward our door but doesn’t get up. And he doesn’t leave. I tap lightly on the window, and he motions for me to come outside.

Kyle

S
eeing her makes you happy, and you hate that. Look at what happened the last time. Will Alex just let you be with her, or will he fuck this up like before? Will he test her too? You don’t know if you’re scared for yourself or Julie. Probably for both of you.

“Hey, dawg,” she says sitting down across from you.

“Yeah, homie, what up?” you answer, laughing. She’s so easy to be with. You shuffle the cards and make a show of letting her cut the deck.

“And spit,” she says, once you’ve both chosen piles. You both spit on the grass at the same time.

Fucking lame-ass,
you hear Alex say.
What are you, eight?
You push his voice out of your head, but it’s been in there too long and has carved a spot in your brain. At last you get it to quiet down; not disappear, but it’s better than nothing.

You play three rounds. You win all three, and that makes you feel confident. “Want to go for a walk?” you ask, and she nods, slipping her hand in yours. And the confidence is gone, just like that. Your legs become rubber, and you sweat.
Shit, why are you such a fucking girl?
You follow her lead and push your legs forward. She talks about going to Wild West City again, having a game-a-thon, and this relaxes you some.

“Alex ever teach you to skip stones?” she asks when you’re at the creek.

“No, my dad taught me. Taught both of us.” You grab a rock and throw it across the water. It bounces once, twice, three, four times. That was the last thing you and him did together before he left. He took you to the local pool, which was really a sandpit with water. It was one of those days that looked like it might rain, so the pit was empty. You spent an hour talking and throwing. He teased you and ruffled your hair. A week later, he found out about your mom and Art. Two weeks after that, he was gone. Less than a year later, he was dead.

“Wow, that’s really good! Can you teach me?”

You gently move her fingers to cover just the tip of the rock and show her how to fling her hand. It takes a few tries but she finally gets it to skip. “I did it!” She throws her arms around you and you stiffen under her touch.
Pussy.
“Want to smoke?” she asks, and the way she says it, you know it’s because she’s grasping for something to do with you. She feels like she did something wrong—you made her feel like she did something wrong. Damn. Why can’t you be normal?

“Sure,” you say, and sit on the grass and look at the rocks and the fish swimming in the creek. She inhales deeply and then tries to do smoke circles, but coughs.

“Easy there, overachiever,” you say, and bump her lightly with your shoulder.

She smiles and takes another drag. You do the same.

“So what was your dad like?” she asks.

You never talk about him. “He was a good guy.”

“I remember him a little. We tried to teach him Spit once, right? I’m sorry he’s gone.”

“Thanks.” You take another drag. “What are your parents like? I don’t really talk to them when they visit.” Funny that you’ve known her for so long and never thought to ask.

She shrugs. “I’ve seen better,” she says, smiling.

You smile too and squeeze her knee. You sit in silence and wait for signs.
Just kiss her. Grow some balls already. That vagina getting dry?
You hate that it’s only his voice that you hear. You hate that it’s getting louder. But then she leans over and kisses you, and the voice disappears.