Saving Maddie (18 page)

Her eyes still closed, she nodded. “It’s also the color of lesbianism.” She smirked. “And no, I’m not a lesbian.”

We remained silent for a few moments—Madeline with her eyes closed, and me staring at the darkness of her lips and the shape of her body.

“Did you ever read
The Color Purple?”
she asked.

“No, but I saw the movie once.”

“Anyone I’ve ever talked to who’s read the book always wants to talk about Celie. How bad she was treated. How mean everyone was to her.” Madeline’s eyes fluttered open. “Most folks are so focused on Celie, they forget about Shug.” She shook her head. “People always forget about Shug.”

I wished I had paid more attention to the movie. It had been years since I had seen it, and even then, I didn’t really like it that much. It was too depressing.

She sat up and picked up the bottle. “You having fun yet?”

“Of course. Can’t you tell from my labored breathing and the look of pain on my face?”

She motioned for me to move closer. “I know a good drinking game we can play. It’s like truth or dare, just without the dares.”

“I’ve never played truth or dare. It’s not the type of game you play on church retreats.”

She rolled her eyes. “The game is called shot of truth. If someone takes a shot of tequila, the other person has to say something truthful. And it has to be profound, not some shit like ‘My socks are green.’”

I yanked my pant legs up and pointed to my plain white tube socks. “My socks aren’t green.”

“No, they aren’t.” She took a sip of tequila. “Start talking.”

I rubbed my face and thought for a few seconds. “This is kind of tough. My life must not be very profound.”

She sighed and pushed the bottle toward me. “Maybe I should go first. Drink up.”

Much more slowly, I tilted my head back and took a swig of tequila. It still burned.

“Okay, I hate my father—”

“That’s not profound!” My voice sounded like I was talking in slow motion.

“You interrupted me before I could finish.” She thumped me on the arm. “As I was saying, I hate my father, but he isn’t really my dad. I’m adopted.”

“Really? How long have you known?”

“I just found out a few years ago. When we were arguing, he blurted out something about the fruit not falling far from the tree. I didn’t think Mom had ever been ‘deceitful and scandalous,’ so I pressed the issue. He eventually broke down and told me the truth.”

I fanned at the sweat collecting behind my ears. “Do you want to meet her? Your real mom?”

“Maybe, but my folks won’t give me any information about her. They just said she was really messed up and that I was lucky to have ended up with them.”

“What about your sisters? Are they adopted?”

“Nope, they’re lucky enough to have been sired by the old man himself. As soon as Deborah was born, I could tell things were going to be different between me and Dad. It didn’t get any better when Hannah was born two years later.” She took the bottle, but didn’t immediately drink. “I really miss them. Especially Hannah. Dad wouldn’t even let me come home once I got kicked out of Trinity. Made me stay in a Motel Six on the other side of town until he could ship me down here.”

“Then maybe that’s a good reason to go home. You’d have a chance to see your sisters.”

“Believe me, Dad doesn’t want me home. He might have said he was coming to pick me up, but I promise, there is no way he’s ever letting me back into that house.” Madeline wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then drank. “Okay, I’ve talked enough. Your turn.”

“But—”

“Your turn,” she repeated. “Get to it.”

I thought for a few moments. Madeline just stared at me, not saying anything, which made me more nervous.

Finally, I sighed. “I’m a virgin, and I’m not sure why.”

Madeline bit her bottom lip while grinning at me. “Technically, you’re a virgin because you haven’t had sex yet.”

“I’m a virgin because I’m supposed to be a virgin. I’m good because I’m supposed to be good. I do whatever my parents say, without even thinking about whether it’s what I want to do. It’s like I don’t have an original opinion in my body. I’m full of shit, and no one seems to care.”

“What about basketball? That’s original, right? I didn’t think your dad liked sports.”

“He just likes golf. But
the church
thought it would be a good idea to form a team, so I played. And I really loved it. I wish I could try out for the school basketball team. But I can’t, because I’m too busy organizing youth revivals and visiting nursing homes, and doing all the other shit that I think will make him proud.”

“Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t be proud to hear you say
shit
so much. And don’t talk bad about the old-timers. They’re really cool.”

“I know, but come on. I am the most pathetic seventeen-year-old in the history of seventeen-year-olds. I didn’t even start cursing until three days ago.”

“At least you’re not a slut,” Madeline said. “It’s much safer to be a good kid than a slut. And it’s easier on the knees.”

I winced. “I really hate it when you say stuff like that.” I leaned back into her pile of clothes; it took too much energy to sit upright. “You’re really smart, and really pretty. You don’t have to act so slutty.”

She didn’t say anything for a few moments, before finally leaning over and handing me the bottle. “Drink first. Then I’ll talk.”

I drank and nestled the bottle in my arms. The fire in my throat had calmed to an almost warm sensation.

“I lost my virginity when I was fifteen, but I didn’t lose it to my boyfriend, Carlos. The guy’s name was Thomas. Everyone else called him Pastor Grant.”

I pushed myself back up. “You slept with a preacher?”

“He was just out of seminary, and had come on board to help guide our youth group. He was supposed to be helping me form the praise-dance team.”

“Wow. An actual preacher.”

“It gets worse. He was married. His wife was a schoolteacher.” She looked up at the water-stained ceiling. “I was a pro at home-wrecking before I could even drive.”

I placed my hand on her leg and slipped my fingers underneath her calf. Surprisingly, her legs hadn’t changed much from when she was a child. She had always had strong legs. Dancer’s legs. Runner’s legs.

“Madeline, you realize you were taken advantage of, right? You were raped.”

“It wasn’t rape.”

“You were a minor. He wasn’t. That’s statutory rape.”

“I loved him. I knew exactly what I was doing.” She
crossed her arms. “And I’m through talking about it. That swig only buys so much truth.”

“Fine.” I swallowed another gulp of Madeline’s truth serum. “Did your dad ever find out about it?”

Madeline stared at me with red eyes. “If it was up to me, I would have never told my dad,” she said. “It was Thomas. In one of his many periods of weakness, he told him.”

“What did your dad do to him?”

“He forgave him—said that I must have tempted him.” Much to my surprise, her voice was even. Steady. Unflinching. “Later that night, Dad confronted me. He said I was damaged goods. That I was a temptress and a whore.” She pressed her foot against my thigh. “The only good that came out of it was that my doctor finally put me on the pill.”

I didn’t know if it was the tequila or Madeline’s revelation that was making it so hard for me to concentrate. “Wait. Your father blamed
you
?”

“Don’t be surprised. If most of Christianity can blame Eve for getting Adam kicked out of the Garden of Eden, surely my father can blame me for tempting a preacher.” She took the bottle. “And like I said before, I knew what I was doing. It was my fault.”

“But the preacher—”

“Enough with the questions,” she said. “Why don’t you call your parents? They’re probably worried.”

I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and turned it on. I wanted to dial the number, but all the buttons bled together.

I dropped my phone into her mass of clothes. “I’m hammered.”

“You’re not even tipsy.” She drank. “Give it a few more swigs. Then you’ll be good and trashed.”

I collapsed backward on the bed. I wanted to think about something profound in my life, some big secret to reveal, but I was drowning in an information overload.

“Hey, are you falling asleep?” She nudged me with her toe. “You owe me a truth.”

“I’m just thinking. About you.”

“Really?” The mattress shook, and a few seconds later, Madeline appeared. She straddled my hips. “What exactly are you thinking about me?”

I glanced at her chest. “Due in part to your provocative attire, I’ve been thinking a lot of things. But right now, all I can think about is you and the preacher.”

Her face fell. “Like I said, I’m a slut.”

I squinted at her, trying to focus. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you were taken advantage of. Your dad made you believe it was your fault, and once you fell for what he was saying, it was easy to let him and your family and your boyfriends and everyone else treat you like shit.”

“That’s enough, Joshua.”

“You got scared, so you did what was easy. You acted like a slut, and you slept around, and you experimented. It validated what you did with the preacher.”

Madeline returned to the far end of the bed. “I think you’ve had enough to drink for tonight.”

Even though the room was starting to spin, I crawled to her. “I’m not finished.” I took her face in my hands and turned it so that her eyes locked with mine. “You drank, so now you get to hear the truth whether you like it or not.”

“I promise, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to slap you again.” Her voice, which had just sounded so strong and secure, now cracked. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore!”

My head was beginning to throb, but I refused to stop. “You’re a fake. You’re not the slut everyone thinks you are. You’re not the type of girl who jumps from bed to bed.” I moved even closer to her. “You’re the kind of girl who brings pastries to old people and kisses seventeen-year-old virgins. You’re a good person.”

Madeline blinked a few times as a tear rolled down her cheek. I let go of her face. “You can slap me now if you still want to.”

And apparently she still wanted to, because Madeline sure did slap me. But before the air had even hit my bruised skin, she grabbed me and sucked me into a kiss.

The tears flowed freely down her face at this point, so her mouth tasted like smoke-and-tequila-flavored salt water. My arms circled her back, her hands warmed my face, and we kissed.

After a few seconds, she pulled away from me. “Take off your clothes.”

I sat up and started to pull my pants down. I had gotten one leg out when I froze.

“What’s wrong?” Madeline had already made it out of
her shorts. Her black lace panties hugged her hips like they had been painted on.

My legs jiggled as I stood and stumbled backward. “I think I’m officially trashed,” I said. And the last thing I remembered was the red-carpeted floor rushing up to meet me as I fell.

chapter 17

I
woke up to the sound of groaning—a deep, unearthly noise that resonated throughout the room. As I struggled to open my eyes, I realized it was coming from me.

My head rested on a pillow, but I wasn’t on the bed. My mattress consisted of the frayed red carpet and dust bunnies. A blanket half covered my shirtless chest.

I sat up, and immediately fell back down. Sunlight flooded the room, bashing into my face with the force of a lead pipe. It hurt to even breathe.

I held my hand to my face in order to block the glare. From above me, I could see Madeline’s foot hanging over the edge of the bed.

“Are you awake?” I whispered.

Silence.

I reached up and tapped her big toe. “Madeline?”

Her foot sluggishly moved. “What do you want?”

“I don’t feel so good. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Madeline reached over the edge of the bed and swiped her hand through the air until it connected with a small plastic trash can. She picked it up and flung it toward me.

“Use that,” she said. “And drink some water.”

“How am I supposed to get water when I can’t even walk?”

“Crawl.”

I grabbed the trash can, which had barely reached me, and started crawling. After an eternity, I reached the bathroom. The cold linoleum felt refreshing against my warm palms.

I grabbed the sink and pulled myself up. Immediately, the taste of disgust hit the back of my throat. I quickly turned, flipped up the toilet seat, and threw up.

After finishing up with a few dry heaves, I flushed and returned to the sink. I rinsed my mouth out and forced myself to drink as much water as I could.

Not quite crawling, but not quite walking either, I made it out of the bathroom. Madeline, clad in an oversized T-shirt, was sprawled facedown across the bed. I would have stayed for a while at the base of the bed to stare at her legs, but my own legs wouldn’t cooperate.

I collapsed back into my homemade mattress. “I threw up.” After waiting a few seconds for a response, I nudged her foot. “Did you hear me? I threw up.”

The bed creaked as she moved. “You use the trash can?”

“No. The toilet.”

“Good. Now go to sleep,” she mumbled. “You’ll feel better once you wake back up.”

“Promise?”

I was answered by the sound of her snoring.

*    *    *

When I woke up again, the room was much darker, on account of the shades being drawn. The beating in my head had slowed to a steady, monotonous thud.

“Ready to get up yet?” Madeline asked. She wasn’t beside me, but it still sounded like she was screaming into my ear.

“No.”

“Get up anyway. You need to call your parents.”

I sat up. She was sitting up in bed, still wearing the same huge T-shirt. She had tucked her entire body underneath the shirt so that nothing but her head, neck, and toes were exposed.

“What time is it?” I asked, trying to keep my head steady. I’d quickly discovered that any head movements I made, even minor ones, were greeted with an ungodly amount of pain.

“A little after noon.” She pointed at my phone, which was lighting up like the annual church Nativity scene. “It’s been like that all morning.”