Breakable (30 page)

I told her to let me know when she was back in town, and I bent to kiss her – one quick, barren kiss. Nothing like she deserved. Nothing of what I felt. I said goodbye and walked away.

I knew I wasn’t the only student in the school without a computer, but it felt that way. I usually logged in at the library, or during my programming lab, or at Hendrickson’s. I didn’t have lab or work hours today, though, so I was using the prehistoric computer at Wynn’s Garage.

‘Buy a cheap laptop already,’ Boyce urged. ‘You work all the fucking time so I know you’ve got the cash, and I sure as hell know you aren’t smokin’ it or shootin’ it any more.’

After pulling up the site where I hoped my SAT scores would finally materialize, I waited for the computer to wheeze its way to the login page where I tapped my password. Boyce watched for his father through the plate glass window, grimy from fingerprints, Scotch tape bits, blotches of who-knows-what and decades of no one thinking to buy glass cleaner.

‘Saving for tuition.’ I gave the excuse I used every time I refused to spend money on something. ‘And I never shot up.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He squeezed my bicep. ‘Your big, hard, virtuous arms are reserved for tattoo needles only.’

I shrugged him off. ‘Shut up, man …’

Almost unattainable scores on the SAT were my only hope of scraping my sorry ass into college past the pathetic GPA I could only raise so much. Not even a straight 4.0 this year would be enough. I’d made use of every free online pretest and every study guide in the library for the past eight or nine months. If my scores on this goddamned entrance exam weren’t ridiculously high, I was screwed, and there would be no string Heller could pull to change that fact.

I hit enter, the screen flashed several times, and then there they were: the numbers that determined my future. I sat back in the chair, staring, my heart rate hurtling higher.

I’d done it.

‘Ninety-eighth percentile?’ Boyce’s brows arched and he hooted. ‘Does that mean what I think it means? Shit, man. I knew you were a brain, but
holy fuck
.’ He grabbed my shoulders and shook them, laughing. Boyce was the only person – Heller aside – who knew how badly I wanted this escape. How much I needed it. ‘Dude, you did it.’

I nodded, still stunned.

‘Oh, man.’ He shoved me. ‘This
sucks
. I’m going to be stuck in this crap town while you run off and fuck tons of
college girls
.’

I shook my head and smiled. Leave it to Boyce to zero in on the only part of college that might have appealed to him.

Belatedly, we heard a truck door slam. ‘Shit,’ we said in unison.

The bell over the door jangled right after I cleared the history, shut the computer down, and bolted from the chair, but Boyce’s dad wasn’t a complete idiot.

‘You jackasses looking at porn again on
my computer
?’ he roared, not even waiting for the door to shut behind him. Thinning hair stood straight up on his head, as though he’d received an electric shock.

Technically, we’d only watched porn on his computer once, though I was pretty sure Boyce still did it whenever he could. We’d come to an unspoken agreement that watching it together was too weird.

‘We were looking up college entrance exam scores,’ Boyce said, tracking his father’s movements. I didn’t even know he could string those words together.

‘Lyin’ sack of shit,’ Mr Wynn growled, lunging. We slid out of his way, Boyce ducking the meaty fist that flew at his head, halfheartedly, the way you’d wave a hand at a fly to shoo it away. His dad cursed us all the way out the door.

Boyce and I had bonded over defective fathers and absent mothers, but that’s as far as the parallels went. His father was an abusive fuck, where mine was silent and detached. His mother left his father – and her two sons – when he was almost too young to remember her. He’d never seemed to hold her desertion against her.
I would’ve ditched his ass, too, if I was her
, was all he’d ever said about it.

‘Time to celebrate, my man.’ He steered me towards the
Trans Am as his father cursed him from the door of the shop.

‘Quittin’ time is at
six
!’ he bellowed, ignoring the fact that he’d closed up for two hours mid-afternoon to visit a ‘lady friend’ in the next town – a person Boyce and I weren’t certain existed. How any woman could find Bud Wynn attractive was beyond our powers of imagination. ‘You worthless piece of –’

We slammed wing-wide doors shut on the familiar tirade and Boyce turned the key, igniting the stereo, while I grudgingly acknowledged the sounder fact of my father’s muteness.

Jacqueline would be moving home in two days. The space between us was magnetized – I couldn’t think of another way to describe it. I fought her pull every second of the past twenty hours. I knew exactly where she was, and I wanted to be there. I hoped that once she was gone, once she was further from me, I would get a respite.

Carlie and Caleb were in my apartment, playing video games. They were in that zone – the one where school has let out for two weeks, and there’s nothing but eating and sleeping late and getting presents as far as you can see – because at sixteen and eleven, you can’t see all that far. You think you can … but you can’t.

I can’t say their perspective was contagious, but it was fun to watch.

There was a knock on the door, but I wasn’t expecting anyone. Before I could think, Carlie was up and unbolting the door.

‘Who is it, Carlie?’ I jumped up, going for the bat. ‘Don’t just open the door –’

‘It’s a girl,’ she said, rolling her big, dark eyes.

A girl? What girl? Carlie pulled the door open. ‘Jacqueline?’ I said needlessly, because
of course
it was Jacqueline, showing up after I’d told her goodbye. ‘What are you doing here?’

She turned to tear down the stairs and without thinking I reached out and seized her arm. Her momentum swung her right into the air. I grabbed her with both hands and pulled her to my chest, my heart stopping, restarting, revving up, and then slamming like a train engine. When she wriggled like she wanted loose, I realized that a pretty girl had answered my door.

‘She’s Carlie Heller,’ I murmured, leaning to her ear. ‘Her brother Caleb is inside, too. We’re playing video games.’

She swayed into me, professing unnecessary apologies into my chest.

The last thing I could feel, holding her in my arms, was sorry. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have come without telling me, but I can’t be sorry to see you.’

I confused her. That was obvious enough. I supplied some implausible excuse about trying to protect her with
this separation, and my brain scoffed –
liar
– while she told me that didn’t make sense.

‘Unless … you don’t want to,’ she said.

Unless I don’t want to?
My whole body was prepared to mutiny if I allowed her to leave here thinking I didn’t want her. I shoved both hands into my hair.

‘Brrr! Are y’all coming in, or what?’ Carlie said behind me. ‘’Cause I’m closing this door.’

Jacqueline was shivering, and I was standing barefoot on the landing outside in the middle of December. I captured her hand in mine and brought her inside, refusing to consider Carlie’s hundred-watt smile. She went back to her corner of the sofa, where Francis allowed himself to be hoisted and repositioned in a way that would’ve got anyone else on the planet a hiss and scratch.

Caleb, objecting to the disruption because he’d been kicking Carlie’s ass and mine, made some surly comment and got an elbow from his sister while I placed Jacqueline in my corner of the sofa. After making introductions, I sat on the floor in front of her and wondered what the hell to do now. Unchartered territory – that’s what this was. I’d given her every reason to let go, and she wasn’t doing it.

Minutes later, Carlie, determined that everything go according to her romantic whims, winked at me and hustled her brother across the yard, whether he wanted to go or not. I bolted the door behind them and turned to lean against it.

‘So. I thought we said we were taking a break?’ I said.

‘
You
said we were taking a break.’ She was still irritated.

I reminded her that she had to leave by Tuesday morning – the break was university decreed, after all – and she conceded.

I stared at the floor, knowing damned well what I was to her. I had to tell her. I had to put it all out there, because she had everything so wrong. I’d shielded myself too well. So well that she couldn’t see the truth.

‘It’s not that I don’t want you. I lied, earlier, when I said I was protecting you.’ My eyes rose to hers as she sat, silent, still curled into the corner of my sofa. So impossible, so beautiful. ‘I’m protecting
myself
.’ My palms braced against the door, and I forced out the thing I feared, and the desire that had bided its time, waiting to crush me. ‘I don’t want to be your rebound, Jacqueline.’

Her thoughts were readable, even from this distance. She wasn’t sure how I knew, but she saw that I did. I waited for her to try to explain that she cared about me – because I knew she did. I waited for her to argue that she just wasn’t ready now, to claim that she was giving me what she could, to ask why I couldn’t be satisfied with that.

‘Then why are you assuming that role?’ she said instead, rising and crossing the carpet, her eyes on mine, unwavering. ‘It’s not what I want, either.’

I accepted her body, pushing into my space like she’d pushed into my heart. She’d chipped away at the wall between us until it collapsed and turned to dust at my feet.

‘What am I gonna do with you?’ I asked, palms cupping her face, and she said she could think of a couple of things.
Unwilling to wait to find out what those things were, I picked her up and carried her to my bed.

I loved her silly, furry-cuffed boots. Off they went.

I loved her blousy knitted top, pink and white swirls, like a watercolour sunset my mother had painted on Grandpa’s beach when I was very small. Off it went, too.

I loved her snug, curve-hugging jeans that wouldn’t simply slide down her hips – they had to be tugged while she wiggled. I tugged. She wiggled. Off they went as well.

Her bra and panties were silky-smooth and matched the creamy tone of her skin. Front clasp. Bra off. The last thin scrap of fabric covered the part of her I wanted to taste, soon. Panties, gone.

She lay in the centre of my bed, naked, and I was fully clothed, but barefoot. I stood, staring down at her, prolonging the moment. She squirmed, her chest rising and falling, her hands kneading the comforter beneath her.

I reached to pull my long-sleeved T-shirt off, unhurried. The squirming increased as I slid the sleeves down my arms, flexing them. I combed my hair back from my face and took a measured breath, like a light tap on the brake.
Slow
.
Slower
. My jeans were threadbare – I didn’t wear these out, because they always seemed to threaten spontaneous disintegration. Ripped in three or four places, frayed around the hems, the seams, and the waistband, which hung at my hipbones. One button, undone. Two.

Jacqueline’s chest rose and fell, rose and fell, her breasts lush handfuls I wanted to feel against my chest, against my
palms and fingers and face as I sucked those hard, pebbled nipples.

As if I’d said this aloud, she whimpered softly.

‘Soon, baby,’ I whispered.

At the third button, I could have shoved the jeans down – they were loose enough. I paused. She panted. Fourth button. I pushed the jeans down and stepped out of them. Her eyes grazed over all of me. She licked her lips.
Yes
. Her hands clenched, tight fists at her sides. One knee rose restlessly.

Boxers down and off.

She started to rise, but I pointed at her and shook my head.
Stay
.
There
. Reading the silent command in my eyes, she lay back down, biting her lip.

I took my wallet from the desk behind me and removed the condom, rolled it on. One knee on the foot of the bed. Her soft skin was a feast, and I wanted to devour her. She spread her legs, just enough to welcome me. I wanted to slide the tip of my tongue from her ankle to her thigh, licking and charting an unhurried, torturous course. I wanted to taste her, but that would have to wait, because I had to possess her.
Now
. I crawled forward, my body shaking with anticipation, just as hers was.

When I rose over her, she reached for me and I paused, staring into her eyes, and then rocked into her, fully. Her arms surrounded my shoulders, fingers clutching the hair at my nape as she cried out. Sweeping my tongue through her mouth, I kissed her, holding myself still.
Mine,
I thought.
Yours,
her body answered. I began to move, and she held
tight, humming and moaning, crying and pulling me inside, everywhere I wanted in. She came apart seconds later and I plunged my tongue into her mouth, stroking deeply and swallowing her pleasure, making it mine. I growled her name, shuddering, and dragged her with me as I collapsed at her side.

I love you
, I thought, but heard nothing in return.

Her fingers moved over the petals tattooed over my heart.

‘My mother’s name was Rosemary. She went by Rose.’ I stared at the ceiling.

‘You did this in memory of her?’

I nodded against the pillow. ‘Yes. And the poem on my left side. She wrote it – for my dad.’

Her fingers traced the poem, and I shivered. ‘She was a poet?’

‘Sometimes.’ My mother’s face smiled down at me – a memory that I couldn’t place now. I held on to whatever I could of her. ‘Usually, she was a painter.’

Jacqueline made some comment about the
artist genes
and
engineering parts
that comprised me, and I laughed at this visual, wondering aloud which were the engineering parts.

She asked if I had any of Mom’s paintings. I told her that some hung in the Hellers’ place, since they used to be so close. I would, perhaps, show her those. Others were in storage in the Hellers’ attic or Dad’s.

She began questioning me about their friendship, and at first I thought she was merely curious about the longstanding relationship between the Hellers and the Maxfields.

‘They were all
really
close – before.’