The Opposite of Innocent

Luke drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

  Then suddenly, they shoot out

  and snatch the phone from my hand.

  He switches it off

  and slips it into his pocket.

  My Blood Freezes

  But I don’t want him to know how scared I am.

  So I hiss, “Turn this car around, Luke.

  I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He pulls over to the curb and reaches for my hand.

  “Please don’t be angry, Lily.

  It’s just that I wanted this night to be . . .

  to be so romantic . . . Like one of those love

  stories you’re always reading . . . I wanted—”

  Then his voice cracks,

  and he doesn’t finish his sentence.

  His lower lip quivers,

  like he’s on the verge of tears.

  Now I sort of feel like crying too.

  “Oh, that’s okay, Luke,” I say.

  “I’ll bring you back to the dance now,” he says.

  “But can we just make one little stop first?”

  I hesitate.

  “Please,” he begs, his voice trembling.

  “There’s something I really need

  to show you.”

  Then he flashes me the saddest,

  most heart-piercingly beautiful smile.

  “Okay,” I say, swallowing hard.

  “One little stop.”

  Twenty Minutes Later

  We park in front of a building

  in a really seedy neighborhood.

  There’s two drunk guys

  swearing at each other on the steps.

  Luke takes my hand

  and leads me past them,

  then down a long corridor that smells

  of stale cigarettes and grease.

  He stops

  in front of a scuffed-up metal door.

  He unlocks it and shoves it open

  with the toe of his boot.

  Then he turns to me and says, “Ladies first.”

  I enter, and he flips the lock behind us.

  The hairs on the back of my neck rise.

  I glance around the small, dimly lit room.

  There’s only a stained gray love seat,

  a lamp with a torn shade on a beat-up end table,

  and a thin vase with a single

  bright red lily in it.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “I . . . I dunno,” I say. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a dump,” he says with a grin.

  “But it’s my dump. I signed the lease this morning.”

  A Shudder Runs Through Me

  “But . . . But don’t you want

  to live in a nicer apartment?” I ask.

  “Don’t be daft,” he laughs.

  “I’m not going to live here.”

  Then, as he pulls out a couple of candles

  from a cabinet in the tiny kitchen alcove,

  and starts lighting them, he adds, “This is just

  a place where you and I can be alone.”

  He says he chose it because

  the neighborhood is so sketchy

  no one we know

  ever comes down here.

  He says that he can “tutor” me here,

  and nobody will catch us coming and going.

  That it will be lovely,

  once he fixes it up.

  That we’ll have much more privacy here

  than in that study room at the university.

  “And we’ll need it,” he says.

  “We can’t do what I have in mind

  in a room with no lock on the door.”

  My Heart Flings Itself Against My Ribs

  Well, at least there’s no bed, I’m thinking.

  Not much can happen if there’s no bed.

  And just then,

  he reaches for a handle on the wall

  and yanks down

  a hidden Murphy bed.

  “Ta-da!” he says,

  flashing me a hungry smile.

  “I put pink satin sheets on it.

  Just for you.”

  I want to tell him to take me home—

  to take me home right now.

  But when I open my mouth to speak,

  the words refuse to come.

  He Unties the Bow at the Neck of My Cape

  He lifts it off my shoulders,

  and lets it drop to the floor.

  His eyes burn

  as he looks me up and down.

  Suddenly

  I’m wishing I hadn’t worn

  such a clingy top . . .

  such a short skirt . . .

  I reach up and wipe away

  the bead of sweat

  that’s rolling down

  the side of my face.

  And That’s When I Notice

  The two wineglasses

  on the kitchen counter.

  Luke pulls a bottle of champagne

  from the fridge.

  “Time to celebrate!” he says.

  But I’ve never felt less like celebrating.

  He puts his hand on the small of my back

  and steers me over to the bed.

  Then he lowers himself onto it

  and pats the spot next to him.

  “Join me,” he says, his eyes glinting

  like an animal’s in a nightmare.

  “I’m good,”

  I manage to say.

  But he takes hold of my hand

  and pulls me down.

  Luke Pours Two Glasses of Champagne

  Then he gives me one,

  and clinks his against mine.

  “To us,” he says.

  “I . . . I don’t want any,” I say.

  “But this is the best there is,” he says.

  His mouth is smiling, but his eyes aren’t.

  He guides my glass up to my lips.

  “I don’t want any,” I repeat.

  I try to turn my face away,

  but he catches my chin in his hand.

  “Please, Lily,” he says.

  “Don’t ruin this special night for us.”

  I think about bolting for the door.

  But it’s almost as scary out there

  as it is in here.

  And Luke still has my phone.

  I have no choice—so I choke down a sip.

  It’s bitter, but not as bad as beer.

  He starts rubbing my shoulders.

  “Have another sip, Lily,” he says.

  So I have

  a little more.

  And then, at his urging,

  a little bit more . . .

  I’m Feeling So Light-Headed Now

  The room’s blurring around me,

  like I’m riding a merry-go-round

  that’s spinning way too fast.

  I’m so dizzy I have to lie down.

  I shut my eyes and let myself drift a little

  on the satin sheets . . .

  Then Luke’s lips

  are brushing across my forehead . . .

  my lashes . . . my cheeks . . .

  And now he’s pressing them to mine . . .

  Gently . . . So gently . . .

  Like the very first time we kissed . . .

  I feel

  Luke’s hands

  drifting over my shoulders . . .

  I feel

  Luke’s hands

  gliding along my thighs . . .

  I feel

  Luke’s hands

  sliding up under my skirt!

  My Eyes Pop Open

  The champagne

  lurches

  in my stomach.

  I try to push

  his hands away,

  but suddenly

  my panties

  are around my

  ankles

  and I’m struggling

  to sit up,

  but he’s easing

>   down onto me,

  pinning me under

  the crushing dead weight

  of his body.

  He Starts Fumbling with His Fly

  Tugging at his jeans and

  everything’s happening

  way too fast and

  now his cold hands

  are on my knees and

  he’s trying to spread

  my legs apart but

  I’m clamping them together,

  clawing at his fingers,

  trying to pry them off me, and

  all the while

  he’s kissing my neck,

  murmuring,

  “Come on, Lily.

  You want this.

  You know you do.

  I’ve waited so long for you.

  I can’t wait a minute more.

  I love you . . .

  I love you so much.”

  And That’s When

  I hear the three voices—

  the voices

  of my heart

  and my mind

  and my body.

  And all of them

  are screaming

  just

  one

  word.

  “Nooooo!”

  It’s so earsplitting

  it shocks Luke

  into pulling back.

  And the second he does

  I slam both fists into his chest

  and shove him off me.

  Then I leap up

  from the bed but

  he grabs my wrist

  and yanks me back down

  and now his arms are closing

  around me

  and every muscle in my body

  is tensing,

  bracing

  for what’s coming

  next.

  And Then—

  He starts crying.

  Sobbing,

  really.

  Like

  he’s the most

  miserable man

  in the world.

  He’s Telling Me He’s Sorry

  He’s so, so sorry.

  And then I’m crying too,

  and he’s wiping away my tears

  with his thumbs and we’re looking

  into each other’s eyes.

  But as I stare into his,

  something slowly comes

  into sharp focus.

  It’s like I’m seeing Luke

  through the lens of my camera

  and his secret is finally being revealed—

  something is missing there.

  Something is off.

  Way off.

  He’s looking into my eyes,

  but he’s not seeing me—

  all he’s seeing

  is his own reflection.

  That’s the only thing

  he cares about—

  himself.

  That’s All He’s Ever Cared About

  Suddenly,

  I feel emptier

  than a swimming pool

  that’s been drained for the winter.

  We may

  be crying together.

  But we are crying

  for two very different reasons.

  And When Both of Us

  Are finally all cried out,

  he says he never meant to hurt me.

  He says he’d never do anything to hurt me.

  But he says we’ve been taking things so slow.

  So slow it’s killing him.

  He says he knows I’m inexperienced

  and he respects that and he’s tried to be patient.

  But he’s a man, not a boy.

  And a man reaches a point

  when he needs more.

  And he says

  if I’m not able to give that to him,

  he’ll understand.

  He will.

  But if that’s what I decide,

  it’ll just be impossible.

  Impossible for him to bear.

  So he’ll have no choice.

  No choice but to pack up his things

  and move someplace far, far

  away.

  He Pauses Then

  As if he’s waiting

  for me to say something.

  And that’s when

  it dawns on me:

  He’s expecting me

  to beg him to stay.

  Even

  after everything

  that’s just happened.

  He’s expecting me

  to tell him I can’t live

  without him.

  But that

  is the opposite

  of how I feel.

  So I look him

  right in the eye

  and say,

  “Then I guess it would be best

  if you did leave town.”

  Luke Stares at Me Like He Can’t Believe His Ears

  He squeezes his dark eyes closed.

  And when he opens them again,

  a few seconds later,

  he sighs a sigh deeper than a bottomless pit.

  Then he puts his hands on my cheeks,

  cradling my face in his palms,

  and says he doesn’t think I understand

  what he’s saying.

  He doesn’t think I realize

  that if he’s forced to move away,

  forced to break every tie

  with me and my family,

  he’ll have to take all his money

  out of my father’s business.

  And he’d hate to have to do that.

  He really would.

  “Because if I do . . . ,” he whispers,

  pressing his forehead against mine.

  “If I do . . .

  your family will go bankrupt.”

  His Words

  Are chains,

  binding my clenched fists together.

  His words are a jail cell,

  its walls closing in

  around me.

  Luke has locked me up

  with his words

  and

  swallowed

  the

  key.

  How Could I Ever Have Loved This Man?

  There’s a stone in my chest

  where my heart once was.

  I imagine the look

  on my parents’ faces

  when Luke tells them

  he’s taking his money back.

  I see our house—an eviction notice

  plastered across the front door,

  all our stuff boxed up on the lawn

  with nowhere to go.

  I see Taylor and Rose and Presley,

  standing on the sidewalk,

  not knowing what to say to me.

  I see Alice,

  sitting on one of the boxes,

  rocking back and forth

  with her arms wrapped around herself,

  her eyes lifeless and lost.

  I could save myself.

  But at what cost?

  Then

  I feel

  Luke’s lips

  on my neck again.

  And this time,

  when he places

  his icy fingers

  onto my knees

  I don’t

  even try

  to pry them off . . .

  When We Get Home

  And Luke and I

  walk through the front door,

  my parents are right there

  waiting for us.

  They thank Luke

  for picking me up from the dance.

  He says it was no trouble at all.

  My parents ask me

  if I had a good time.

  I say I did.

  Why can’t they see?

  Why can’t they see

  what’s happened to me?

  Shouldn’t

  they know?

  Doesn’t it show?

  I Force a Smile onto My Face

  And tell them the danc
e was awesome,

  carefully avoiding eye contact with Luke.

  I make just enough small talk

  to keep my parents from getting suspicious.

  Then I say good night, rush up the stairs,

  lock myself into my room,

  and collapse against the door.

  I reach up and grab hold

  of Luke’s tsavorite necklace.

  It feels like a noose, strangling me.

  I yank on it with both hands,

  sending a shower of green stones

  skittering across the floor.

  Then I race to my closet

  and get out my stepladder.

  I climb to the top,

  reach up to the ceiling,

  and start tearing off

  the glow-in-the-dark stars.

  I scratch at them till my fingernails

  are nothing but broken nubs,

  and every single one of those stars

  has been obliterated.

  Later

  I lie on my bed,

  imagining what would happen

  if I told my father

  what Luke did to me.

  I picture the color fading from his face.

  I picture him grabbing the Maasai spear

  from the hall closet—

  the one that Luke brought him

  from Kenya.

  I picture him raging up the stairs with it,

  the booming echo of his feet

  making it sound like whole worlds

  are being trampled beneath them.

  I picture myself

  dashing up the stairs behind him

  and watching as he kicks open Luke’s door.

  I picture Luke’s eyes widening

  when he looks up and sees

  the spear in my father’s hand.

  I picture the bursting out of the blood,

  like a sudden blooming star on his chest,

  and the terror and relief

  spreading all through me

  like the deep red puddle that’s spreading

  on the carpet at Luke’s feet.

  And Then

  I picture my mother.

  And Alice.

  I picture them rushing into the room

  at the sound of my shrieks.

  I picture the squad cars

  screeching up to our house.

  And I picture my father’s face—

  strangely expressionless now,

  like a blank sheet of paper.