Perfect - 02

  We are strangers. But I hope that will

  change. Your father and I want you

  and your sister to be part of our family.

  And here’s the thing. I’m worried about

  you. Are you aware of the damage

  an eating disorder can do to your body?

  I know you want to be thin so you can

  model.… What is she talking about?

  “I don’t have an eating disorder!”

  I’m practically shouting, something

  that becomes obvious when Yummy

  Guy’s head snaps in my direction.

  I lower my voice. “I am in perfect

  control and know exactly what I’m doing.”

  She starts to say something, changes

  her mind. Here comes your dad.

  But, honey, you are way too skinny.

  You definitely have a problem,

  and when you’re ready to ask for

  help, I will be here for you.

  Who the Hell

  Does she think she is? I have

  a problem? She’s the one who

  is marrying some loser guy ten

  years her senior. He settles in again

  across the table, head swiveling

  back and forth between Shiloh and me,

  nothing but love for either of us reflected

  in his eyes, and I feel like a total bitch.

  You two didn’t have to wait for me.

  Dig in, girls! He takes a giant bite

  of a very big turkey sandwich, and

  is trying to manage chewing it when

  I hear the door open behind me.

  Suddenly, food flies out of his mouth.

  Who the fuck is that with your sister?

  Guess it’s time for Dad to meet Andre.

  Sean

  It’s Time

  To quit overthinking.

  Quit plotting. Planning.

  Worrying about outcomes.

  Time

  for action. Reaction.

  Putting things into motion.

  Emotion, something it

  isn’t

  easy for me to communicate.

  But there’s more. Lust.

  This snarling inner animal.

  Always

  in the past I have controlled.

  it. For her. But pleasing a girl

  is confusing. You can be

  on your

  best behavior and still not

  make her happy. And she won’t

  tell you what’s going on in-

  side

  her head. You generally find

  out the hard way. So I’m taking

  a risk. But it’s definitely time.

  I Have Never Insisted

  On Cara having sex with me.

  She didn’t seem ready for

  the longest time, and being

  in love with her meant more

  than getting off with her.

  It was enough to hold her.

  Kiss her. Inhale the “her”

  of her. Enough to gather

  in the heat of her skin,

  knowing that she was mine.

  Then something changed.

  That night in the truck,

  something had opened

  inside her—some sudden

  bloom of womanhood I didn’t

  expect. She was a wildcat,

  come into season—enough

  to drive any man crazy,

  and that’s what I became

  when I couldn’t give her

  what she wanted. Practically

  begged for. Betrayed by

  my own body! Thank God

  she didn’t think I was gay

  or something. She gave me

  another chance, and tonight

  we will make serious love

  right here, right now, on

  Chad’s sweat-reeking, not

  real comfortable couch.

  Those girls on the TV are

  beautiful. But I’ve got

  the real deal, stripped

  down to nothing but skin,

  beneath me. She moves like

  an eel. Sinuous. Cautious.

  My kiss is a question.

  Her tongue answers.

  Now she pushes my head

  lower, asking for much more.

  She tastes of soap and salt.

  A knockout combination.

  It makes me high. Makes

  me thirsty. Makes me hungry

  for even more. This could

  easily become addiction.

  Tonight my body hints

  zero treachery. Tonight

  it wants to go for hours.

  “I love you,” I promise,

  though she can’t doubt it.

  I prove it with my mouth.

  My fingers. My tongue.

  This is her first time,

  so I want her to be ready,

  and I think she has to be.

  “I don’t want to hurt

  you,” I tell her. “Ever.”

  She is flushed, her skin

  hot as summer sand.

  I’m crazy again, this time

  with the need to make

  this all real. I lift myself

  over her, working forearms.

  Biceps. She closes her eyes,

  moans as I move into place

  right up against her sweet

  spot. Pause at the resistance.

  “I need you,” I say, before

  kissing her. Before going all

  the way with her. One push

  and we will be joined in

  the most amazing way.

  Connected by love. Now.

  I have to have her now.

  But just as I test the barrier,

  everything screaming yes,

  go, she opens her eyes.

  And out of her mouth

  comes a single word: No.

  I Heard Her Wrong

  I know I did, and even if

  I didn’t, I know she means

  now, not no, so I go ahead

  and push. Hard. Oh. Oh.

  And her eyes pop wide

  and she screams, Stop. I said

  no. Stop, goddamn it. And

  her little fists try to pound

  against my chest, which

  only feels good and I can’t

  stop, even if I wanted to,

  and I so don’t, so I won’t.

  And she starts to cry and

  I don’t understand so I tell

  her, over and over again,

  “I love you. I love you.

  I love you.” Rhythmic.

  In perfect time with my

  body’s rhythmic beat.

  “I love you. I love you…”

  There’s A Strange Buzzing

  In my ears. With a final

  thrust, there’s a brilliant

  flash and the emptying

  is syncopated. My head

  clears as the mist slowly lifts.

  And I see what I have done.

  Cara lies, stiff as old toast,

  tear-glossed eyes staring

  up at me. I told you no,

  she whispers. Why…?

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What

  the hell just happened?

  “You wanted this! You

  told me so. In fact, you

  practically raped me.…”

  She sobs, and her entire

  body shakes with the force

  of it. No. You raped me.

  Her voice slices, tempered

  steel. I told you to stop.

  DNA Evidence

  Soaks into Chad’s lumpy

  sofa in sticky, red ropes.

  But I didn’t rape her.

  “Cara. We both wanted

  this. I love you so much.

  Please don’t say I raped

  you. I’ve waited for this

 
for months and months,

  until I was sure you were

  ready. And I was more than

  sure tonight.” Cable TV moans

  and groans remind us both

  of how this little episode

  went down. I nod toward

  the noise. “You even liked…”

  She strong-arms me aside,

  jumps up, stalks over to

  turn off the tube, blood

  trickling down her legs.

  Bastard. You set me up.

  I have no idea what she means.

  Sudden anger is a tornado,

  hurtling through my veins.

  “Look. I’m not sure exactly

  what happened here, but you

  are everything to me. Even

  if you weren’t, you have

  to realize you can’t get

  a guy all worked up, then

  tell him to stop. It’s not fair.”

  Cara snatches her clothes

  from the floor, stomps off

  to find the bathroom.

  Rule one of the Rapist’s

  Handbook. Blame the victim.

  I run to catch her, grab

  her shoulders, swing her

  around, pinch her cheeks.

  “You shut the fuck up, hear

  me? I. Did. Not. Rape. You.”

  When I Let Go

  Of her face, crimson finger-

  shaped marks remain. Jesus.

  “I’m sorry, Cara. Really,

  I am.” I reach for her, but

  she slaps my hand away.

  Don’t touch me. Ever again.

  I can’t believe I trusted you

  enough to be here like this with

  you. Can’t believe I thought

  I was in love with you. Stupid!

  “Cara, please. I didn’t mean

  to hurt you. I wanted to

  make you feel special.

  You are in love with me.

  You have to be. I—I…”

  Her lips curl in a feral snarl.

  May I go now? I’d like to get

  rid of the… residue. She

  doesn’t wait for an answer,

  but leaves me to consider

  what all this means. Have I lost

  her? No way, right? She’ll think

  things over, and understand

  that this was a mutual fuckup.

  Of course she will. And I’ll figure

  out a way to make it all up to her.

  Losing Cara would mean losing

  pretty much everything good

  about me. I’ve programmed

  my entire existence around

  constructing a life with her.

  College. Career. Marriage.

  Family. Together. With Cara.

  Because what good are

  any of those things alone?

  She Emerges

  From the bathroom, ghostlike.

  Pale. Silent. A colorless shadow.

  “Give me a few and I’ll take

  you home.” I really need to pee.

  And it would probably be good

  not to have any residue on me,

  either. I run the water hot,

  wash traces of blood from

  me. Chase them all the way

  down the drain. I want to puke.

  Instead I get dressed. Comb

  my hair. Pull myself together.

  She will forgive me. I’m sure

  she will. But even before

  I open the scarred white door,

  I know she is gone. Amplified

  by the empty room, the whoosh

  in my ears is deafening. I could

  run after her, try to find her.

  But what good would it do?

  Andre

  What Good

  Can come of one-sidedness?

  A house with a single side

  is nothing more than a wall.

  Not much in the way of shelter.

  What good

  is there in chasing rainbows?

  Even if you found yourself

  haloed with prismatic light,

  would it

  promise a happy ending?

  Could an ending do anything

  but break your heart? And

  yet, what good would it

  do to

  shutter your windows, never

  dream of rainbows or find hope

  in promises? Why choose to

  walk away

  rather than hold your ground

  and fight for love?

  Fight For Love?

  Would I? Could I? Should I? If it came

  down to fighting

  someone else for Jenna’s love, I might.

  But fighting to hold on to her love

  is something else.

  Especially considering I’m not sure

  she loves me, or if she’s even capable

  of loving someone.

  Hiding somewhere in that girl is a soul

  defined by pain. I don’t know what sort

  of hurt left her fragile,

  and she would argue that she’s strong

  as brick. But beneath her wall of bluster

  is uneven ground.

  A good hard shake could bring it all

  crashing down. The question I keep asking

  myself is, do I want

  to be standing there when it happens?

  I Really Have No Option

  Any crumbs of choice blew away

  the first time

  she kissed me. And she knew it too.

  Now I’ve got you right where I want

  you, she said. Of

  course “where she wants me” seems

  to change, practically from day to day.

  And where she wants

  me today is having lunch with her father

  and his fiancée. The one she’s pissed

  about. My gut tells me

  this may not go well. We arrive at Rose’s

  a full half hour late. Jenna is always late.

  But this was, I’m

  pretty sure, a deliberate grand entrance.

  She never ever talks about her dad.

  And I’m really

  very sure he has no idea about me.

  That Theory Is Confirmed

  The second we walk through the door.

  Who the fuck is that

  with your sister? The words slap the air,

  accompanied by chunks of sandwich.

  Way to break it

  to him, Jenna. At least her mother

  didn’t yell. I consider making a sharp

  U-turn and running

  like hell. But Jenna tightens her grip

  on my hand. Come on, she says. He

  won’t hurt you. I

  won’t let him. And she drags me across

  the short distance to the food-sprayed

  table. Sorry we’re

  late. I had to change my tampon. Man!

  If looks could kill, I’d be embalmed

  already. Jenna’s dad

  is seriously disturbed. By us? Me? Both?

  Kendra says nothing. Just sits, staring

  at us with a mixture

  of amusement and—relief?—in her eyes.

  The fiancée keeps one hand on Jenna’s

  father’s arm, as if

  that could keep him safely anchored.

  Jenna pushes me into an empty chair.

  I am starving. She checks

  out Kendra’s plate. Not for spinach,

  though. We’re all transfixed, even her

  father, who clearly

  can’t quite process what he’s seeing.

  Finally Jenna notices our blank-eyed

  gawk. What? Oh.

  Introductions. This is my boyfriend, Andre.

  That’s my dad. And that… She points,

  quite rudely. Uh, not

  sure what her name is.
Back to the menu.

  Part Of Me

  Wants to break the spell Jenna has put

  us under. Another

  part knows I really need to keep my mouth

  shut. And there is still that little voice that

  keeps insisting, “Run!”

  I look at Kendra, eyes begging for help.

  But it is the fiancée who finally speaks up.

  I’m Shiloh. Glad to

  meet you, Jenna. And you, too, Andre.

  Jenna ignores her, but my manners kick

  in immediately. “Thanks

  so much, and very pleased to meet you, too.

  And you as well, Mr. Mathieson. Oh, and

  congratulations on

  your engagement.” I extend my right hand.

  What was anger just seconds ago swells

  into palpable fury.

  Listen here, boy. I don’t know who you

  are, and I don’t want to know, but if

  I were you, I’d get

  the fuck out of here right damn now.

  “Excuse me, sir, but I don’t understand

  what I did to make

  you so angry. Is it dating Jenna? Because

  I’m not the first guy she’s gone out with.”

  I glance at Jenna, who

  for some inane reason seems to be enjoying

  the whole thing. Chill out, Dad, she says.

  I don’t choose who you

  date. Let alone who you get engaged to.

  The room has fallen morgue silent. All

  activity has ceased.

  “Uh, Jenna, maybe we should just go.”

  Mr. Mathieson starts to stand, only to

  be braked by Shiloh.

  You go, he says. Jenna is staying here.

  This Is Insane

  I have no idea what my next move should

  be, other than to do

  exactly as he has suggested. Every eye

  in the restaurant is looking at us—me—

  and that makes me

  extremely uncomfortable. I can’t meet

  Jenna’s father’s gaze, so I speak directly

  to Shiloh. “Very sorry

  about—” Wait. What am I sorry about?

  “Scratch that. I’m not sorry. I didn’t do