Spiraling (11 page)

Christmas with my family was a nightmare. Most of my cousins were over-achievers. I saw the disappointment in my mother’s face as her sisters boasted about all the things their children were doing. Chris and I were average students at best and the twins were ill-behaved brats that weren’t old enough to compete with student body presidents and soon-to-be valedictorians. As soon as everyone left, my mom compensated for our lack of brag-worthy accomplishments by recalling the stories she’d heard and encouraging us to be more like Cousin So-and-so. Chris listened for a while. Then he scooted out the door with no clear destination.

I tried to escape, but my few remaining friends were out of town and Devon was working. When he finally came to pick me up at seven, I was so thankful to see him that I raced out the door before he made it halfway up the sidewalk. He smiled at me. Then he took my hand and we walked out to the street.

He wasn’t driving RJ’s car. Instead, he had a newer red coupe with tan leather seats and a five-speed transmission. At first, I thought he’d finally gotten his own car, but he explained that he’d borrowed it from one of his friends. When I asked him which friend, he shrugged it off and I didn’t think it was a big deal. At least I had gotten a reprieve from RJ’s stinky rust bucket.

“Anything in particular you wanted to do tonight?” he asked as he started the car.

“I’m not sure there’s much
to
do,” I said. “Lancaster’s is the only place I know of that doesn’t close on Christmas.”

“I think you’re right.”

“We could go to your house.”

“We
could
,” he said with a tone that suggested a “but” would follow.

“You’ve been to my house tons of times. I’ve
never
been to yours.”

“Believe me, it’s nothing special.”

“Well, if you have a better idea, I’m all ears,” I said.

He sighed. “I guess we’re going to my house.”

We drove down Main Street, past most of the newer businesses. I watched out the window as the buildings gradually became less welcoming. Most of the stores on that side of town had been closed for years. Weeds had overtaken the parking lots and the windows were either boarded up or broken. Devon turned the car at an unmarked street next to one of the few businesses still open: the liquor store. Neon lights advertising different brands of beer flashed in the dark windows.

A few blocks up the road he turned again, passing two trailers and a condemned shack before pulling into the driveway of a house that didn’t look much better than the one next to it. The white paint had peeled off the wood siding, the porch roof looked like it would collapse with the next gust of wind, and the front window was partially covered by plywood. Other than the neat yard scattered with children’s toys, the house looked abandoned. It was hard to believe anyone actually lived there.

“Is
this
your house?” I asked.

“Yep,” he answered. “I know. It’s a dump.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” I lied.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

He turned the car off and opened the door. I grabbed the handle on the passenger door and pulled it. Nothing happened. I glanced at him. Then I tried the door handle again. It moved freely in my hand, but the door didn’t budge. There wasn’t even that clicking sound a door usually makes when it opens.

“I’ll get that,” he said as he stepped out of the car.

“I got it,” I replied, trying again.

I tried it a few more times as he walked around the front of the car, determined to get it open. There was a part of me that wanted to prove to him that I wasn’t as weak as I seemed. The door would not cooperate. No matter how many times I pulled the handle, it wouldn’t open from the inside. I gave up as he approached the outside, sitting back in the seat and waiting for him to open it.

“I wasn’t trying to be a gentleman.” Devon laughed as I got out of the car. “That handle doesn’t work.”

“That’s good to know,” I said, annoyed that he’d let me make a fool of myself.

The inside of the house was in slightly better condition than the outside. Dark green carpet covered the floor in the living room. There wasn’t a lot of furniture, but the small room looked cluttered. The far wall was taken up by a large wooden entertainment center that housed a small television and various components. Across from it, in front of the large front window, was a metal futon flanked on either side by mismatched side tables.

A man sat on the opposite end of the futon. His dark hair hung limply down to his shoulders and his goatee looked like a used steel wool scrubber glued to his chin. When we walked in, he looked over and grinned. Then he put something to his lips that he held between his thumb and index finger. I couldn’t say conclusively, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t a cigarette.

“Hey, D,” the man said. “Didn’t think I’d see you tonight. What’s up?”

“Where’s Lia?” Devon asked.

“Work,” the man answered. “She got called in right after you took off.”

“What about the kid?” Devon looked around. “She’ll be pissed if she finds out you were high when you’re supposed to be watching him.”

“He’s fine.”

“Where
is
he?”

“Relax, kid.” The man laughed. “He’s at Cindy’s. I’m heading out as soon as Jared gets here so she took him over there before she left.” He took a drag from the joint in his hand and coughed. “God, you’re such a fucking panic attack. Why don’t you sit down and take a hit? It might help you chill the fuck out.”

Devon’s eyes narrowed. “Very funny, asshole.”

The man laughed, putting the joint back to his lips. Devon glared at him for a second before taking my hand and leading me through a doorway into a crowded dining room. Along with the table, there was a desk piled with papers, a few disorganized bookcases, and a buffet that was much too large for the room. To the right of the entrance was an open door that led into a cramped bathroom. I glanced into it as we passed and hoped I wouldn’t have to use it while I was there. It reminded me of something I’d seen in a rundown truck stop when I was a kid. The floor was plywood covered by a dingy off-white bath rug and the wallpaper had brown water stains all over it.

The next room we entered was the kitchen. It wasn’t any better than the bathroom. Dingy, partially broken appliances sat on a cracked linoleum floor. Some of the cabinets were falling apart and the front of the silverware drawer was missing. Like the rest of the house, it was moderately clean, but its dilapidated state made it look dirty.

I followed Devon through a door beside the refrigerator. A green wool blanket hung over the opening. He held it aside for me as I walked inside and then let it drop back into place. To the left side of the door was a hideous washer and dryer set. Scratches and various stickers of cartoon characters marred the ugly pea green finish.

Turning from the laundry area, I looked at the rest of the room. It was about the size of my closet. Along one of the walls was a twin-sized mattress and box spring made up with blue sheets and a green wool blanket that matched the one over the door. Next to the makeshift bed, an overturned milk crate doubled as a nightstand. On the top were a metal lamp, an alarm clock, and an open book with a pair of glasses resting in the spine. Across from the bed, against the wall, was a short three-drawer dresser with more books piled in neat stacks on top and a guitar case leaning against the side. Under the furniture the only stain-free rug in the house covered the cement floor.

“This is your room?” I asked.

“Yep,” he answered, taking off his jacket and tossing it on the end of the bed.

“The laundry room?”

He shrugged. “It’s a room.”

“I guess.”

“Have a seat.” He gestured toward the only place to sit down.

I took off my coat and stepped over to the bed. As I sat down, I looked around the room again. I had expected posters of heavy metal bands or half-naked women and a stereo system—something reminiscent of my brother’s room. What I saw was a larger version of his locker. It was probably the most boring bedroom I had ever been in.

“Are all these books yours?” I asked.

“Most of them.” He nodded, fidgeting with the car keys. “I borrowed a couple from Carter.”

I scanned the stacks. There had to be at least fifty books scattered in neat piles throughout the room. I settled on the open one next to the bed, looking more at the glasses than the book itself. “Do you wear glasses?”

“Sometimes.” He nodded. “Usually just when I’m reading.”

I grabbed the arm of the black wire frames and lifted them from their resting place. “Put them on. I want to see what you look like.”

He put the keys on the dresser and took the glasses. Carefully sliding them on, he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at me. I studied his face, deciding whether I liked him better with or without them.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“You look like a really hot nerd,” I answered.

He took the glasses off and set them down on the dresser. “Thanks.”

“It was a compliment.”

“Sure, it was.”

“It was.” I chuckled, reaching across the tiny room and taking his hand. “Come here.”

He sat down next to me on the bed and sighed. Then he looked at me. I smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips, giggling quietly.

“You’re so cute when you’re pouty,” I said. “It’s adorable.”

“I’m not pouty.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve got that whole…” I imitated the brooding expression on his face. “You should cheer up.” I tickled his stomach, but he didn’t laugh.

He shook his head. “I’m not ticklish.”

“Everybody’s ticklish. I’ve just got to find your tickle spot.”

“Are you sure you want to start this?”

“Are
you
sure?”

He grinned mischievously. Then he started tickling my stomach. I burst into laughter. My quest to find his tickle spot was completely halted. I flopped back on his bed and tried half-heartedly to get away from him, laughing so hard my eyes watered. He chuckled, continuing his barrage until I gave up.

“Okay, you win.” I surrendered. “You win.”

I kept laughing for a minute after he’d stopped. Looking up at him, I struggled to catch my breath between giggles. He was perched over me, held up by his outstretched arms. A triumphant smile lit up his face. It was the first time he looked happy since we’d gotten to his house. My chest heaved with every breath. Once my laughter died, the only sound in the room was my rapid breathing.

Gradually, the smile faded from his lips. Bending his elbows, he leaned down and kissed me. I smiled at him as he straightened his arms again. Then I grabbed his shirt and pulled him back down. As we kissed, he reached up my shirt and unfastened my bra. I knew I was supposed to tell him to stop, but I didn’t want him to. At that moment, I didn’t really care about morality or my reputation. I wanted him to touch me.

He shifted his weight to his left arm and raised my shirt to my armpits. I lifted my upper body from the bed, sliding my arms out of the sleeves one after the other as he pulled it over my head. It wasn’t until my bra was off that I felt self-conscious. I worried that he’d change his mind once he saw how I looked without cute tops and expensive underwire bras to mask my imperfections.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he ran his fingers down the length of my torso between my breasts.

From the way he looked at me, I didn’t doubt his sincerity. I’d never felt as sexy as I did at that moment. He didn’t seem to notice that I was a little chunky and my breasts weren’t exactly the same size. When I saw my reflection in his eyes, I didn’t see any of the things I hated about myself.

His lips brushed mine before he turned his attention to my neck. Shivers ran through me and my breath accelerated. I knew he was giving me a hickey, but I didn’t care. I liked the way it felt, and I wanted more. Grabbing the bottom of his shirt, I tugged at it. He leaned back, pulled it off, and tossed it on the floor. Then he returned to his position over me with a ravenous smirk.

When he unbuttoned my pants, my body tensed and I held my breath. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything, but I was terrified.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

His eyes swept across my body. “You’re trembling.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Do you not want to do this?”

“I do. It’s just…”

Squinting, he studied my face. “Is this… Are you a virgin?”

I diverted my eyes to the wall. Fear of rejection caused my response to come out as a fragile squeak. “Uh-huh.”

His fingertips brushed against my forehead as he swept the hair from my eyes. “Tori, it’s okay if you’re not ready.”

I looked at him. “I’m ready.” My voice wasn’t as convincing as I wanted it to be so I added, “I want to.”

“If you’re not sure—”

“I’m sure.” I slipped my hand behind his neck and pulled him closer. “I’m ready.”