Want (33 page)

Mrs. Swann has announced to the whole ball that I’ve slept with a man eleven years older than me. Not illegal, but enough to make the Dardenne biddies swoon and enough to tarnish Isaac’s reputation all over again. There’s no way he can stay in Mobile now. When I open my eyes, Isaac is gone, and so are Daddy and R.J.

Gone. Everyone’s gone.

Then a blond head bobs through the crowd as the owner shoves his way to the stage.

“That’s about enough of this bullshit. C’mon, Juli. We’re out of here. Oh, but one thing. Marcie—can I call you that?—I bet these fine folks would love to know why you accused Ike Laroche of statutory rape and being a child predator. Reality is,
y
ou
tried to seduce
him
. And he turned you down.” He leans into the microphone. “Who’s the child predator now, bitch?”

Before I can react, Dave and I are skidding across the ballroom floor and out the door. It’s not until the cool night air hits my skin that I find my voice.

“How are we getting home?”

He shakes Mr. Cline’s keys in front of my face.

“But how will he—”

“Got sick and went home with his sister.”

He left me, too?

“Wait. Stop! I can’t leave without finding Isaac.” I yank my arm out of his grasp.

“Really? You really want to talk to Isaac? After what just happened, you’re still worried about him more than yourself?”

I turn to go inside, but Dave grabs my hand and pulls me back. He puts his other hand on my face and leans in.

“Jesus Christ, Juli, he left, okay? He’s not in there. That spineless pansy bolted halfway through
Cruella
DeVille’s
speech. He’s probably packing his bags as we speak.”

“Then we need to go to his house.”

“
No
.” He digs the heels of his hands into his forehead and looks up at the sky. “You don’t get it. I am not taking you over there so you can throw yourself at his feet when
first
, he should be ashamed of himself;
second
, he doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you; and
third
, I might actually kill him. I keep hearing about Southern honor, but I tell you what, this Yankee’s
fixin
’ to kick his ass!”

I laugh. I laugh all the way to the car, and I laugh harder when Dave puts his tux jacket around my shoulders. Reminds me of a night last October. I laugh all the way home. At one of the red lights, I dig into his jacket pocket and find his flask. It’s still half full. Dave tries to grab it from my hand, but the light turns green. I knock it back in five gulps. It’s cold and hard like me and makes my throat burn. Three red lights later, he peels me out of the car and drags me to the back door. Daddy and R.J. aren’t here, so I tell him where the spare key is hidden.

Once inside, I really feel the effects of the liquor. The kitchen is just a little off kilter and I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Thanks to my happy pills, the tears won’t come. My face feels warm and my fingertips are numb, so I hang onto Dave for dear life. Somewhere between the kitchen and my bedroom—how did I get up here
?—
his tux jacket disappears. There are fingers on my feet and I giggle. In the dark, he takes off my shoes. I really giggle when his fingers slide up my legs and he slithers off my nylons.

“Dave?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you so good to me?” It comes out slurred.

“We’ll talk about it later. Roll over.”

He unzips my dress and pulls it off, too. I smile when he takes it over to the closet and carefully hangs it up.

“So thoughtful. Really are
m’best
friend,
ya
know? Best. What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I know, silly. Mean, how come I’m not...
w’you
?”

He sits on the bed. “Been wondering that for months.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“Mmm, I hear I’m damaged goods. Not taken anymore. Could be with me tonight.”

His hand traces lazy circles on my stomach, and I have just enough awareness to realize I’m on my bed in just my bra and underwear. The cautious side of my brain is completely wasted, so I grab a fistful of his vest and pull him down. Ever the gentleman, his kiss is soft and sweet. I feel like I could kiss him like this forever.

He sits up and draws a shaky breath.

“’S wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, hon.”

“Why—”

“Not like this.
I’m more of a Mitch
,
remember
? You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

Another rejection.

“Stop pouting. I’ll be right back.”

I roll to my side and see my half-dozen pill bottles on the nightstand. I’m supposed to take some of them at
night,
I just can’t remember which ones. Dave returns with a glass of water.

“Here, drink this. If you don’t, you’ll have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

A hangover is the least of my problems. I take it from his hand and spill most of it on the bed. He refills the glass and holds it to my mouth for me.

“Good girl. I’ll call your father and let him know you’re home safe. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Don’t go.”

“Have to.”

“Right. You’re the good guy.
Too young.
Too drunk.
Too stupid.
No wonder you didn’t want me. Leave. Just like...”

I close my eyes, and everything slips away.

When I open them, it’s still dark. I’m alone. My mouth is dry and my head hurts. I sit up, but the bed takes off on a magic carpet ride. I reach for the water on the nightstand and see a slip of paper next to the pill bottles. It’s too dark to make out the writing. I sink back into my pillow.

Scraping wasn’t enough. Chopping off my hair didn’t fix anything. Neither did sneaking out or throwing myself at Isaac. He never cared—Boston was a mistake.
I
was a mistake and there’s no one left to tell me I’m wrong. I sit up again to find my phone. I need to call Mama and tell her she was right the first time—trust no one. Everyone will abandon you.

Rejection washes over me like the waves at the beach that night in December, the night Dave pushed me away. I can’t find my phone, and unbidden, the
whoosh
comes back. I can’t even find my goddamn phone. I can’t even do that right. The only things in reach are the pills.

I fumble with the cap on the first one but manage to pry it off with my teeth. My fingers poke at the inside, but I can’t get them to close around the pills.
Too numb.
I tip the bottle up and shake them onto my tongue, chasing them down with the water Dave left for me. I do this with a couple more bottles but lose track.

I flop back down on my pillow and close my eyes, waiting for the end to come.

***

Dave

I had it all planned out. I’d been in that church enough times to know bronze and pale green would be the best colors. I knew what the dress would look like—pure white, simple and elegant with a plunging drape in the back. The guys would wear black tuxes with tails and pale green vests underneath.

I’d wait until she was ready—maybe her junior year—to ask for her hand and make her promise to finish her degree. Then we’d marry on a sunny May afternoon when the magnolias are in bloom.

It would be perfect. And we would be happy.

Looking back, I never should have left her that night. I got in the car but couldn’t turn the key. I couldn’t drive away and put that much distance between us. Sure, I’d left her a note, but it wasn’t enough. I had to tell her myself. I sat in the driveway for a long time, asking the Mardi
Gras
moon to show me what to do.

When I went back inside, I knew right away something was wrong. My unopened note was on the floor and empty pill bottles littered the bed.

Three days have passed. She wears white, just like in my dream, but it doesn’t suit her. She doesn’t belong here. This is a place of death, and the girl I love has a long, joyful life waiting for her, if she’ll just fight for it.

I lost her once. I expected that.

I didn’t expect to lose her a second time.

The gods smiled and sent her back.

Now, I wait. I stay by her side so I can be the one to hand her the thick white NEC envelope when she wakes.

Her body rises and falls in the motion of life. I take her unfeeling hand and leave a promise there with lips that beg her again and again, “Come back to me, kitten.”

***

Noise.

Then nothing.

Whispers, electronic beeps, and again, nothing.

Pain.

In my head, in my arms, and in my stomach.
Sandpaper mouth, dry lips, nausea.

More pain
.

Rejection. Humiliation. Emptiness. A tear. Then another. Then none.

Touch.

Pressure around my arm.
Something in my mouth.
Itching near my wrist. Then warmth.
A light brush across my hand.
A squeeze.

I squeeze back.

Thought.

Maybe he changed his mind. He came back. Maybe he didn’t.

I can’t open my eyes yet. I don’t want to know
who
it is that sits next to me, breathing, crying, holding my hand. I don’t know who I want it to be and I don’t want to be disappointed.

An unfamiliar voice and the scent of bleach.

“Open your eyes for me, honey. I know you can hear me.
Gonna
hafta
face what you done sometime. Might as well
git
it over with. And you
be
sweet to this boy.
He been
here night and day, never leaving your side. You don’t want him, I take him home with me.”

I squeeze my eyes even tighter and turn my head away from the woman’s voice. I’m so ashamed.
Of everything.
Of what I did, how I acted, and how I got caught. Then, of how I treated him, even after I realized the truth. Saw it.
Felt
it. And ignored it. I threw away everything, but somehow, I survived.

Warm hands brush hair off my forehead and someone places a kiss there.
Warm breath in my ear and stubble on my cheek.

“Wake up, kitten. I have something for you.”

The IV almost rips out of my skin when I throw my arms around his neck. I cry like I never have before, great heaving sobs that threaten to tear apart what’s left of my empty shell. I bury my fingers in the blond hair at the back of his neck and cry for everything that happened and everything that didn’t. For the girl I was, the one I became, and the one I don’t want to be.
The one that nearly wasn’t.

“You didn’t leave me. You’re the only one.”

“Have a little faith, babe.”

“I’ll try. I promise, I’ll try.”

“I know you will. You’re a redheaded Taurus, right?”

I nod and lay my cheek on his shoulder. For a long time, he holds me and rubs my back.

After a while, he says, “I’m a patient man, but I can’t wait much longer. There’s something I have to give you. I made your father give it to me so I could be the one. Now, I’ve waited three days for you to open your beautiful eyes. Think you can do something for me?”

I nod again.

“Open this.”

He places a thick white envelope on my knee. Inside, there’s a letter that starts,

Dear Julianne,

On behalf of the New England Conservatory, it is my pleasure to welcome you to the class of
…

A smaller piece of paper flutters onto the bed.

Ms. Casquette,

As musician-in-residence, it is my privilege to choose a student each year to take under my wing. If you accept, I will be your mentor throughout your education at the NEC, and as you saw with Isaac Laroche, the relationships formed often last well beyond those years. It would be my honor to assist so worthy a student (and fan).

Yours truly,

Sasha
Rozum

The tears start again.

“I almost—” I can’t finish. It hits me how much I almost gave up.

“I know, it’s okay.”

“Oh, shoot. I got some stuff on your shirt. Does this mean I have to go to first base with you again?”

“Read this and then tell me.”

For the first time since I’ve known him, Dave blushes. In his fingers is the note from my nightstand, the one I didn’t open.

“When?”

“After you passed out. And before I came back to check on you.”