Christina (Daughters #1) (4 page)

I was honestly hoping for a more skilled lover. Especially, this first time, when some pain could occur. At least, he was kind of making me relax, finally. I could stop him at any time, of course. I could simply wait and find someone I’m a little more into. But all I can see is this great abyss that represents my future, although I have no idea where it’s headed. All I can relate to right now is high school. Even if there’s only a month left, it’s all I can focus on. I don’t want to graduate a virgin. So instead of waiting for the mythical first love, I’m choosing to end my virginity now.

Closing my eyes, I strain to ignore the sounds and sloppy kissing in order to concentrate on what I like.
His fingers
. I like what they are doing. I try to make that work for me. I can’t be all tense, like I’m about to take a final exam. I need to be relaxed. I really don’t want it to hurt.

What is that?
The door handle to the room is jiggling. Brad keeps kissing me, but I’m sure someone is trying to get in. Of course, the door is locked, so whoever it is should go away. I relax my neck muscles and try to let him continue drooling all over me. But then,
crap!
The door is being knocked on hard. Someone is trying to smash it in. I push Brad off me and sit up.
What the hell is going on?
Fear climbs up my throat. Brad turns and eventually notices the commotion. Is the party being raided by the police? My heart plummets to my stomach.
Oh God, no!
That would be the worst thing ever. That would—

“Christina Jessica Hendricks! Open this door, right now!”  Oh my God! It’s so much worse than the police! It’s
my dad.

~Christina~

I SHUT MY EYES in complete horror as my entire body starts to burn up with heat. Was it shame? Being caught like this in front of my dad? Or embarrassment?

“Who is that?”

“My dad,” I squeak out, pulling my shirt down and grappling around to find Brad’s.

“NOW!”

I fling Brad his shirt. “You’d better just run when he enters. He’s big, and mad, and strong  and… just run.”

Poor Brad’s face blanches at my warning. I am really sorry to put him in such a precarious position. He didn’t do anything wrong besides being a bad kisser, which he didn’t even know he was.

I stand up on shaking legs. There is a window, but it looks like it hasn’t been opened in decades; and besides, it’s a long way to the ground. I’d surely hurt myself if I jumped, although I do consider it for a half a second. I try to smooth my hair. I have freakishly long hair; it’s dark brown and thick and falls to the top of my butt. Shaking it out, I cling to the hope that any tangles won’t be noticeable to a guy like my dad, who knows nothing about fashionable hair or styles.

“Damn it! Open up before I break the fucking locks, Christina!”

With no other choice than to obey my father, I wrap my hand around the old, brass knob and hear the door unclick as I let my father in. I can never live this moment down.  Or forgive him.

My dad enters the room, and as quick as a rabbit, Brad scurries past him, barely making it by before my dad realizes what’s happening and can’t grab him.

I stand there, fully clothed, trying to screw my facial expression into a hard glare, one as mean as I can make. I am trying to emphasize how ridiculous my dad’s arrival is. “
What
are you doing here? How dare you do this? I will never forgive you!” I shriek at him, my hands on my hips and yes, acting totally typical. Saying what any teenager says to her parents at some point. But really! Coming to a party and threatening to break down the door?

And oh my crap! Dad looks pissed off. I step back, finally. He’s not your typical dad. He’s still got really big muscles and a facial expression that is cold enough to freeze a glacier.

He merely crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows. “Are you really asking me what I’m doing here?”

“B—but…” I falter. Who dares to admit to her dad she was on the prowl to lose her virginity and tonight, at this location, was where she planned to execute the deed. But how could he know? I didn’t tell Melissa and totally, not Emily, as they are both too young to explain it to. I told a few girlfriends, but none that would rat me out to my dad. Maybe they told their own parents, who then called mine…

Max
.

That realization hits me like an anvil! It is quick and deep and cutting as my brain tries to process why and how my dad could be standing here right now before me. Max must have called him.
Damn Max
. I’ll never forgive him for this. He is always trying to act like the big, protective older brother, which is such crap since I’m only half a year younger than him.
And no, we are
not
siblings. We’re legally cousins, but not biologically speaking. I didn’t even meet Max until we were both thirteen years old.

Damn Max.

My dad doesn’t even bother with trivial niceties. His gaze scours the bed and seems to get visible satisfaction in finding it barely rumpled. He arrived in time to save my virtue. Stepping forward, he grabs me roughly by my upper arm. His teeth are clenched and the muscle under his ear is tight.
Crap.
I am in some serious trouble.

“Let’s go. Now, young lady. We’ll discuss this in the truck.”

Lacking the balls to yank my arms from his, or tell him off, or stomp away from him, not that I’d get very far anyway, I comply with his order. He can easily outrun and maneuver men half his age. Did I mention that he used to be some kind of super soldier in the Army? I can’t even imagine it. It used to make me outright laugh whenever I tried to. My dad? He’s like, well… picture a well-meaning, straight-laced TV dad from any popular Disney Channel sitcom: that would be my dad. Not that I’m complaining. I mean, he’s always been a good dad to me. But a super soldier? And dangerous? It makes me almost giggle to think about him like that. Well, that is, until now. I don’t often piss him off.

He drags me out of the room and down the stairs, where the humiliation hits me fully. The room is quiet. The people occupying the room are staring at my dad… and me. I feel the flaming blush on my cheeks. I drop my head and vow to transfer to another school tomorrow. Sneaking a glance around, I am slightly relieved to see there isn’t anyone I recognize from my high school. Mostly just college kids I don’t know. My dad’s dramatic entrance and attempts to nearly smash in a door certainly made our presence quite spectacularly known.

I find him.
Max.
He is across the room, holding a plastic cup and putting it up to his lips. I
know
it was he. He must’ve called my dad. Glaring at him mercilessly, I shake my head, trying to somehow tell him from fifty feet away and over twenty-five heads how much I detest him. Oh, how I hate him! I want him to know I will never forgive him. He, of course, doesn’t react. He doesn’t bow his head, not even a fraction, or show the slightest trace of shame or understanding of what he’s done.

He betrayed me. I turn from him, absolutely heartbroken over his irrevocable action. It makes my chest hurt, and not just in anger.

When my dad tugs on my arm to haul me out the door, I try to forget Max and concentrate on now, being alone with my dad. Should we discuss how I was trying to have sex? My hands start to sweat as he pushes me into the cab of his big, black truck, his staple in vehicles. He doesn’t speak as he starts the beast and slips it into gear. His jaw is still clenched. Not a good sign. It might start jerking in spasms soon. He drives in complete silence. There are only barren roads lacking streetlights. A moon splits the dark of the sky. I wait… for something. Anything. Some kind of reaction from my dad. He said only a handful of words, but I’m now sure he must have buckets more to say about my indiscretion. My dad is no quiet wallflower; he’s not afraid to say what he thinks.

“Max called you?” I finally ask, unable to stand the interminable, disapproving silence. For all my attitude, I hate to disappoint my dad.

“Damn right he did.”

Stupid Max
. My heart drops. I hoped maybe there was some holdout, and he wouldn’t betray me like that. But he did. He really called my dad. “He called because he should have. What are you doing at a party like that?”

Yeah, as if I’m going to answer that one.

“Why do you think? I’m not a little girl anymore,” I finally say, making my tone more reasonable. I’m trying not to sound childish or confrontational. That would only inflame him all the more. My statement works, making my dad’s face crumble and kind of appear sad. It almost makes me feel like apologizing and promising to never ever, have sex again. But that right there, their attitude about me, is half the point of this entire night. “I was there to be part of the party. I’m eighteen years old! I graduate next month; and you all still treat me as if I’m twelve years old and you caught me skipping school. I’m allowed to go to those parties! I wasn’t drinking, so you can’t even use that.”

“You were alone, locked in a room. You—” He shuts his eyes as if a physical pain was suddenly stabbing through his temples. “You’re my little girl,” he says finally. “That’s not what I want for you.”

“You had no right to come in there like that and completely embarrass me. It was so over the top. I can’t even believe you did that.”

He keeps his gaze carefully off me. “Max called and said you were at a college party; he was afraid it might get out of control. He was worried about your safety. When I got there, he said you went upstairs. I wasn’t sure you’d gone there willingly. You can’t imagine—”

Then, quite strangely, my dad’s entire body kind of shivers and he shakes his head as if warding off something really bad. “Look, when I was in the Army, sometimes I witnessed things. Things men do to young girls like you. Unpleasant things that I know are always out there. Things I swore when you were born you’d never know about. Not if I still had a breath left in me. So when Max called and said you were here, and he was worried about the crowd… I’m sorry. Maybe I overreacted. But you just don’t know. You don’t know the things—”

Going from boiling rage, I feel totally unsure now. What have I missed? My dad sounds… oh, my God, he sounds distraught. Yet he found me completely clothed and totally fine. Why is he so upset? He is taking deep breaths and his hands are kind of kneading the steering wheel. Ashamed now to have upset him quite so much, I say, “Dad, I’m okay. Really. I’m sorry you got so worried.” I have no idea what’s going on now.

He finally glances at me and there is a slight relaxing of the muscles in his face. At least, he isn’t completely scowling at me anymore. “I know you feel I don’t let you grow up. But is this really the way you want to do it? Sneaking out? In a dirty room with some kid who is drunk and won’t remember you in the morning? Or even care?”

“Nothing happened.”

“But what you don’t seem to get is: it could. Something
could
happen. You don’t get what it’s like to love someone so much and know what is out there and that… I just can’t bear to let anything happen to you.”

My parents have a history. I don’t know the full story. They are tight-lipped about it. As is my aunt. Every so often, a few morsels get leaked out. And then… silence. Like Max. I’m always shut out, and left in the dark.

“Well, what about Max? He was there too. Did you see his face? Guess how that happened.” I was not above ratting Max out anymore. He did it to me. Dad kind of gives me a look like
really?

“He told me on the phone why he was there, and said he happened to run into you. He was worried about the guy you disappeared upstairs with. He promised to leave once he knew you were safe. I told Lindsey; you can be sure she’ll deal with Max.”

Somehow, it comforts me just a smidgeon knowing Max will be on the receiving end of what I’m getting tonight, and all because he tattled to my father, of all people. If he cared so much, why didn’t he just come get me himself? The reason I got upset tonight was because of his fighting, so it’s not like he isn’t brave enough to take on Brad. Not that I wanted Max to do that, or any such thing. I just don’t get why he called my dad.

We pull into the driveway. We have this large, covered area directly over the front door. It’s mostly for the wintertime, so we can unload our stuff and stay dry. There is a large garage and shop on the other side of the house. But tonight, with the late hour, Dad stays in the pull-through. When he turns his truck off, the lights go out and the quiet solitude of the country surrounds us.

“You can’t keep treating me like I’m Emily’s age,” I say finally.

Dad lets out a huge sigh. “Believe me, I know you’re not. You’re an adult. I know, Tiny. I know exactly how old you are. That’s why it’s so hard to let you go.”

“Go? Where am I going? I’m always right here. Or at school. Or with Max.” Or I
was
with Max. I might adjust that soon. I’m so furious with him. “Even tonight, I was only a few miles away.”

“A few miles mean I can’t protect you. Emily is safe in her bed, right where I put her. You are not. That’s what is so hard.”

“You act like we live in gangland USA. My God, Dad, it’s Ellensburg, Washington! Nothing happens around here. Nothing!”

He sighs and his fingers squeeze his nose as if in pain. “Things happen everywhere. That’s what you don’t get.”

Those dismal, ominous warnings are often shot my way. I really hate hearing them. Why does he have to be so fatalistic? As if every other moment, an imaginary boogie man will jump out to get me. “You’re not going to try and punish me for this, are you?”

“You did lie about where you went.”

“Because you are totally unreasonable and refuse to trust me, or treat me like an adult. Next year, you won’t be able to control me like that. Why can’t you let go, even a little bit? Why can’t you trust me? I rarely drink. You know that. Why won’t you just believe in me?”

I try reasoning. I am tempted to simply regurgitate the usual teenage litany of rebellion: he doesn’t understand me, he treats me like a baby, and he can’t tell me what to do. But the thing is, I know he
can
tell me what to do. I make enough money for gas and the usual incidentals by answering phones at my mom’s veterinary office. Not like I earn enough to feed, shelter or clothe myself. And I really want to avoid the “my house, my rules” cliché. My dad and I have not shared that kind of relationship to date. We try to talk first and be reasonable. That’s why having him barge in tonight and threaten to break down the door, making such a scene, really freaked me out. He doesn’t normally react quite so much like a psychotic father on steroids.

He stares out the windshield at our one-story, rambling ranch house. My parents built it just before I was born. I know it means the world to both of them. “I trust you. I don’t trust the rest of the world. What if you wanted to stop what you were doing tonight? What if that kid didn’t accept your refusal? What would you do, Tiny? What could you possibly do if he decided to rape you?”