Crucifax (7 page)

"Neither can I."

"Can I… stay here awhile?"

"Sure."

She bunched a corner of his sheet between her hands and sniffled.

"Why do you think he left, Jeff?" she whispered. "What could she have done that was that bad?"

"Don't blame Mom. She's taking it pretty hard, too."

"She should," she breathed, wringing the sheet around and around in her fists.

"C'mon, don't—"

"Well, it wasn't us!" She turned her teary eyes to him as her face twisted into a mask of pain. "Was it?" she sobbed. "I mean, do you think it was because of
us,
Jeff?" She let go of the sheet and slowly eased toward him, suddenly falling into his arms and pressing her face to his bare shoulder. Her tears rolled down his back.

"No, it had nothing to do with us," Jeff whispered in her ear. She smelled of shampoo and toothpaste and felt warm, even feverish, in his arms. "Don't think that. And it wasn't Mom, either. He just… left. That's all."

"But he didn't even say goodbye. He didn't even—"

"That wasn't because of anything we did or didn't do. He just…" Jeff stopped to weigh his words, wondering if they would sound too harsh. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe… maybe he just didn't
care
enough to say goodbye?"

"How could he not care? After all the things he used to… to t-tell m-me…" Her words were lost in a storm of sobs that made her body quake in his arms.

They didn't talk any more that night. They lay on the bed, Mallory huddled in Jeff's arms, her head resting on his chest, her sobs slowly dissolving into slow, regular breaths of sleep. With each inhalation, her breasts gently pressed against Jeff's side, then slowly pulled away. Her breath was hot and moist on his skin.

As Mallory slept Jeff tried to remember their childhood summers together, the camps their father sent them to and the year they'd gone to Disneyland, Magic Mountain, and Knott's Berry Farm all in one week.

He remembered the biggest fight they'd ever had. It had been over a block of clay they'd had to split between them; Mallory wanted more than half because she was making a miniature backyard fountain for two of her dolls who had just married, and Jeff wanted more because half the block wasn't enough to make a voodoo doll of Mrs. Rhodes, his fourth-grade teacher. Their quarrel went on for days until their mother threatened to ground them if they didn't forget it.

He tried to remember Mallory and himself as children, a brother and sister who got along unusually well and depended upon one another for support, companionship, and sincere, innocent affection.

But something changed in Jeff that night. His crystal-clear vision of Mallory the child had gone from library paste and bubble gum to perfumes and powders and a subtle, darkly enticing smell that, when noticeable, made him feel warm inside, warm and guilty.
This
Mallory was different than any other girl; she thought differently, even spoke differently. He knew more about her—about the things she'd done, the thoughts she had, and the things she felt—than anyone else. She was his best friend, his closest companion, and he loved her more at that moment than he'd ever loved her before.

But a shadow had fallen over his love for Mallory, a shadow that made their physical closeness on the bed that night more exciting than it should have been, more intimate, and, ultimately, more shameful.

Jeff was unable to close his eyes as Mallory slept beside him. Where her breasts touched him, his skin burned. Mallory moved her leg over his knee, his thigh, until it was resting against the hardening bulge beneath his shorts. The sensation of her bare skin sliding over his made Jeff dizzy until the dark room seemed to tilt a bit.

A shaft of bluish moonlight from the window fell over them, glowing on the curve of Mallory's hip where her shirt had hiked up. Jeff's hands trembled to reach down and touch her smooth skin. He ached to press his erection against her thigh, just a little….

After lying there for a long time, Jeff slowly moved his arm across his body and held his hand an inch above her breast, cupping his palm as if he were actually touching the mound of flesh. He lowered his hand slightly, then a fraction more. He did not touch her, but after several minutes of holding his hand there, he thought he could feel heat rising from beneath her shirt.

Before he gave in to his temptation, Jeff eased out from under her. She mumbled in her sleep, rolled over, and curled herself around a pillow. Jeff put on his robe, went to the living room, and watched television until dawn.

Things had never been the same since that night. At first, it was difficult for him to be around her. He often found his eyes wandering over her body and quickly made excuses to go away. After a while, though, he learned to bury his thoughts so deep they didn't show on his face. He shared them with no one and savored them only in his dreams. He always awoke with a pounding erection, a hard, cold lump of guilt in his stomach, and one thought. It was a dreadful thought that terrified him:
There's something wrong with me….

As he took a right on Chandler Jeff said, "I'm sorry. It's none of my business, really. I just… worry too much, I guess."

After a pause, he felt her eyes on him. "I know," she said quietly. "I kinda like that. But Jesus, Jeff, it's like you don't trust me at all, like you have to have your eyes on me all the time."

"It's not you I don't trust, it's—"

"I know, you don't trust him. But that's only because you don't know him. If you knew more about him…" She gave up and faced front with a sigh. "I'm meeting him after school, so I won't be going home with you. Don't wait for me.

Jeff tapped his thumb on the steering wheel as he waited for a traffic light to change. His breakfast was sitting heavily in his stomach and he looked forward to getting to school and out of the car.

When they got to school Mallory opened the car door and stepped out before Jeff turned off the ignition. She almost stopped to say goodbye and wish him a good day but decided she didn't want to give him the chance to make some remark about her after-school plans. Slamming the car door, she started across the school parking lot with her bag slung over her shoulder.

Sometimes Jeff worried her. She expected her mother's meddling and concern, but Jeff was her brother. He was supposed to be on
her
side. He usually was; that's what seemed so odd.

Unlike most of her friends, Mallory's strongest source of support was her brother. Most of the kids she knew couldn't stand their siblings. She and Jeff had always been close. When they were children, he defended her if she was being treated unfairly, and he was the first to let her know if he thought she was being unfair. She'd always liked that; it made their relationship special because it was so different from those of the other brothers and sisters she knew. Jeff was like a built-in boyfriend.

That was the problem. Now she had a real boyfriend, and Jeff couldn't handle it.

Someone called her name, and she stopped on the steps in front of the school. Deidre Palmer was hurrying up the steps toward her, a fat notebook held against her chest with both arms.

"So how come you look so pissed?" Deidre asked.

"I look pissed?"

"Mm-hm."

"I just had a bad morning, is all."

"Your mom?"

"My brother."

Deidre blinked with surprise. "Your brother? What's wrong?"

Mallory found her locker and began spinning the combination lock back and forth.

"Jeff doesn't want me to see Kevin," she said, jiggling the latch. The locker wouldn't open.

"What?
Why, as if it's any of his business?"

"He thinks I'm gonna get into trouble." She began spinning the lock again.

"You mean, like,
pregnant?"

"Well, that, too, probably, but"—she jiggled the latch again, but with no success—"mostly he just thinks I'm gonna get into, you know, trouble. This damned locker…" She tried the combination a third time.

"What, like
police
trouble?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said impatiently. "Did they change the damned combination on this locker?" Clenching her teeth, she jerked on the latch a few more times until a hand reached over her shoulder.

"Here," Larry Caine said, his breath warm on her ear, "sometimes you just have to give it a really hard pull like… this." He gave it a strong downward jerk, and the locker clattered open.

Mallory looked at Deidre. Her wide-eyed smile was directed over Mallory's shoulder as she hugged her books more tightly to her chest.

"How'd you do that?" Deidre asked.

When Mallory turned around, she caught Larry sweeping his fingers through his golden hair, one side of his mouth cocked up. There were two other guys behind him; one was Randy Scheckley, but the other was new. She didn't care, didn't want to know him, and turned away, taking books from her bag and arranging them in her locker. She knew Deidre's heart was probably doing backflips, but Mallory was merely annoyed. Anyone could have helped her open the locker, why did it have to be Larry Caine?

"Thank you, Larry," she said flatly, slamming the locker.

"No problem." He slipped the fingers of his right hand into the back pocket of his jeans and leaned his elbow on the wall of lockers, trying to get her to look at him. "What class're you going to?"

"My first one." She turned and walked away.

Still hugging her books, Deidre stepped around Mallory as she passed and said, "Hi, Larry." When there was no reply, Mallory heard Deidre say, "Hi… Larry?"

Mallory felt his hand on her shoulder and turned. He'd walked away from Deidre without so much as a hello and followed her. His buddies stayed where they were, watching him as they smirked into their palms.

"Hey," he said, "all I get is a 'thank you, Larry'?"

"Okay. Thank you very
much,
Larry." She started to turn away again, but he tightened his grip on her shoulder.

"Wait a sec," he said. "I thought I could, you know, take you out tonight. A movie? Dinner, maybe? At least let me take you to Tiny's."

"No, thank you." She glanced over Larry's shoulder at Deidre, who was rolling her eyes, exasperated with Mallory for turning down yet another opportunity to go out with Larry Caine.

He reached behind his head and rubbed his neck. "Jeez, you know, if you don't want to go out with me, that's one thing, but you could at least be, like, friendly, you know?"

Mallory turned and started down the corridor.

"Still seeing that leather fag?" Larry shouted.

A gust of breath came from Mallory's lungs as she picked up her pace. A few of the students in the hall slowed and turned to Larry, then to Mallory. Her face began to feel hot. She kept walking, hating Larry a bit more with each step for acting as if he was doing a favor by asking her out every few days; she even hated Deidre for being so crazy about him, and for acting as if there was something wrong with Mallory because she didn't feel the same.

"Know what's gonna happen?" Larry went on, louder now that he had an audience. "You're gonna catch some disease from that slug, that's what's gonna happen. You won't be able to
buy
a date then!"

She rounded the corner, trying to get away from the eyes that surrounded her, and away from the sound of Larry Caine's voice. When she felt the tears welling in her eyes, she clenched a fist at her side, angry at herself. There was a side exit up ahead, and she hurriedly dodged a group of girls babbling to one another in Spanish and pushed through the door.

She felt much better on the sidewalk and took a deep breath of the cool air, but the burning sensation in her stomach wouldn't go away.

Mallory and Kevin had been dating for almost a month, and during that time her friends had not given her a moment's peace. "He's five miles of bad road," Deidre had told her, and at first Mallory had been inclined to agree. She hadn't planned to see him more than once or twice.

On their first date, he'd taken her to his garage and played his guitar for her, then handed her a set of headphones and played a demo tape he and his band had made. The music was her first clue that Kevin Donahue was not the guy she'd thought him to be. When he played the guitar, his face tightened, becoming intense and withdrawn, as if he were no longer in the garage with her. As she listened to the tape he paced like an expectant father, awaiting her opinion of the music. He was quietly passionate as he talked about writing songs, and when she told him how much she liked his music, she spotted a glimmer of fierce pride in his dark eyes. He had reason to be proud; the music was dark, angry, and provocative. She'd been very impressed.

His parents and brother had been gone that weekend visiting relatives out of town, so he'd taken her in the house and shared a joint with her, played some records, danced a little. She kept expecting him to make a pass, but he didn't. Until the second record was over.

"Hey," he'd said, taking her hand, "let's fuck."

It was a shock at first, but intriguing. No one had ever come right out and said it like that before. They fooled around a little, but she wouldn't go all the way that night. He'd become so angry, she thought he was going to hit her.

The second time they went out, it was to a movie. She'd expected him to come on to her again and was ready to say yes, but he didn't.

On their third date, he'd taken her up to Mulholland, spread a blanket over a patch of weeds well off the road, and taken off his pants, all without saying a word. When she asked him to be careful because it was her first time, he'd acted as if he hadn't heard her.

It hurt, but it felt pretty damned good, too, especially the way he used his mouth on her. He softly growled obscenities in her ear while he moved inside her.

"You could do so much better," Deidre told her almost every day.

Mallory felt differently. There were guys who dressed better—although Mallory enjoyed the smell of Kevin's scuffed leather jackets—guys who were more popular, better-looking, but none she knew who were as… unpredictable as Kevin. They didn't have the edge, the electricity she felt when she was with him.