Page 20 of Expressionate
and all Isee,
isyou.
He’s messing with me, I just know it. His lyrics, or rather the lyrics I wrote from him. They keep shoving their way into my head at random times of the day. In class. Cooking dinner. But right now, I’m in this weird place between dreams and reality, some sort of limbo I’ve put myself in. I’m unsure whether I even want to wake up. The room is cold, and goosebumps rise along my arms. Goosebumps creep me out. Yet, I always seem to have them; they look and feel like little ant hills running up and down my arms. I imagine that there are thousands of ants crawling under my skin when I get them, and it freaks meout.
I rip the paper to shreds and glance at the napkin from the night at City Limits. All I can seem to do is repeat the first lines I originally composed. They linger in my head, drifting in and out – his voice, I always hear them in his voice. I see him singing on a dark stage, a single arrow of light highlighting only him. I shut the image out. I can't stand the thoughts roaring through my head. Tax isn't important. He's no one. I slam my eyes closed. I reopen them, and shove the napkin away from me. It lands on the floor under the desk somewhere. I don't reach for it. Let it belost.
My phone rings and without looking at the screen, I answer. “Love?” I regret not looking at the screen almost immediately. But when I pull it away, the caller ID doesn’t say Todd, even though it’s definitely hisvoice.
I sigh and put the phone back to my ear. “Why are you calling me, Todd? Whose phone are youusing?”
“You weren’t fucking answering me and it’s my phone, I got a newone.”
The back of my head throbs, beating against the base of my skull. “There’s nothing left to say. I wasn’t answering for a reason.” I pull the phone awayslightly.
Either he suspects what I’m about to do or he can hear the movement, because he yells out before I press end. “Love, wait! It’simportant.”
I hesitate. What could be so important? The line doesn’t go dead. I lift the phone back to my ear and don’t say anything. A beat of air static passes between us, thick with the sound of his breath, and then he startstalking.
“I know,” he says in a rush. “I know that we didn’t have anything serious, but Love, we could be. I thought you just needed time. We were goodand—”
“Are you just calling to talk about our lack of a relationship or is there somethingimportantyou wanted to tell me?” I remindhim.
Like a tin cup rhythmically striking at the bars of a jail cell, the sound of Todd’s grinding teeth ricochets through the phone’s receiver. “I know,” hesays.
I wait patiently and when he doesn’t elaborate, I feel my headache move from the base of my skull to my temples. “That’s great that you know things. I’m sure you know a lot of things, Todd. What, specifically, do you know that you think is soimportant?”
“I know what you did,” he says. “I knew a while ago, but it didn’t matter. I knew you never strayed and you were reformed. But if you’re breaking up with me then that means you’re going back, right? You’re going back tohim.” Todd spits the word. I don’t blame him. The thought of Danny makes me feel vile,too.
“You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, Todd. We’re donetalking.”
Before I can pull the phone away and end the call, he replies. “If that is what you’re doing, then I hope you know – you were never more than a fucking whore anyway. I could’ve been good foryou.”
I slam my thumb down on the red button as bile rises into mythroat.
* * *
16 yearsold
My eyes are closedas the beat pumps through my veins. I'm fuzzy headed, and I can't even hear the lyrics to whatever song is pounding through the speakers. The floor beneath my feet is shaking under the weight of so many bodies. My tits are pressed against so many people. There's no goddamn room in this place. Someone is grinding against my back. I can feel it, it's not like it's my body that I'm walking around in. It's someone else's. It has to be someone else's. Because this is notme.
“You’re so hot,” someone whispers in my ear. I feel my lips stretch around a smile. Whoever he is, he smells like alcohol. Smoke clings to my sweat-soaked skin. He reaches under the back of my dress and fondles my ass, and I don't stop him. Instead, I laugh hollowly and toss my hair back, probably slapping him in the face with it, but I don't care. And I don't think he does either, because there's something else back there, somethinghard.
The song changes and, if possible, something with an even deeper bass comes over the speakers, causing the walls to shake and tremble. Lights circle the dance floor – dancing and spinning like the half-drunk people around me. What kind of house has a fucking dance floor? I look around and realize, a house with wood flooring everywhere. We're only in the living room. Whoever lives here must be loaded because the place has built in speakers around the room. I feel like I'm surrounded by this song and by these people and by the horny boy at myback.
"Do you want to go somewhere quieter?" heasks.
I just want to breathe,I think. I nod, and he takes my hand, drawing me away from the dance floor, through several other rooms, including a hallway and a kitchen, before a sliding glass door opens and the music finally fades. Going from an overly loud place to a place that's so very quiet makes it hard to hear much. There’s ringing in myears.
Clammy hands grip my wrists and my waist. My dress is skin tight – a small something to piss Anne off. That is, if she knew where I was right now. The tightness of my dress, however, doesn't slow the boy in front of me down. He's ripping the short tights I have on beneath the dress – to keep me from flashing anyone – and then he's shoving the fabric out of the way as he backs me up against the outside of the house. The ripping is so unexpected and so is his roughness, that when it happens, all I can do is blink in confusion. Brick bites into my skin and I start to question if I should have had those shotsearlier.
The boy gets down on his knees in front of me, cursing lowly as he realizes my tights are still in the way. He shoves my ruined tights down my legs. Without thinking, I step out of them. Because that's what you're supposed to do, right? If your clothes are ruined, you should take themoff.
"God," he groans, looking up at me. I can't even make out the color of his eyes. "You're fuckinggorgeous."
"Thanks." My reply sounds faraway.
"You want this, right?" he asks, though he doesn't really sound like he cares. Just that he knows he’s supposed to ask. He's shaking with his hands around my thighs as he continues to look up at me forconfirmation.
