Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteenth
My heart pounded violently for half of the way back home. The commotion of having cut it so close beginning to subside, another thrill took its place, insinuating: Had I just been flirted with? I felt myself blush conceitedly.
I had passed for an adult well enough to warrant those beers and to even receive that officer's colorful attention. Maybe I shouldn't be so timid around Chris: I was clearly nailing this game of being 17… or 19… of being this better, improved version of myself. I was cool, interesting… Most of all, I was smart.
My mother… She said I was a baby. Well, look at me now, debuting into the world and being darn good at it! But of course she wasn't here to see it, she never saw any of my qualities. And if she did, she'd just find faults in them anyway. It didn't matter. In just one week I had had my first kiss, with the best guy I could ever dream of; I had purchased beer; and I had been flirted with by a cute cop – by two older men for that matter. All I needed to do now was… - and a cold swirl of apprehension attacked my gleefulness: sex. The very word scared me. And yet, I couldn't pass for an older girl without it for too long, could I?
Older girls weren't scared of sex.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'd be braver, brave enough to think about it, to stare into that yarn ball and maybe try untangling it. For today, the sky was already too dark, the streets too moist, my veins too stressed by past panics. In short, for today I was scared enough as it was.
I strode in quietly; the house was dark. I placed the grocery bag heavy from the beers and an assortment of candy over the table, took a long sigh and proceeded to remove my coat. Turning to the corridor to hang it, I gasped as I was surprised by Chris coming to me in the shadows. His pace was wary, his eyes were silent – they observed me, the corridor, the empty spaces in the kitchen… It made me uncomfortable:
"Is… is everything okay?" I looked about myself.
"You tell me…" He answered quietly, distant in looking over my head, then at me – those inquiring eyes.
I was in danger – his facial muscles told me at once, his lack of a smile, the way his jaw clenched, and his hands waited at his sides, hovering, twitching, ready, like a loaded gun… but for what? I must have furrowed my brow unintentionally, and unintentionally I took a step back. I observed Chris in the shadows: his eyes didn't relent. He frowned, mad… mad as if they'd just declared it: war. And I was the enemy.
I moved to turn on the light switch and Chris advanced in a big, decided step, as if to stop me.
"What have I done?" I blurted out as despair overflowed my cup, and he was startled to a halt as soon as the lights hit the blue of his alert eyes.
His frown deepened: He had just pinned me against the table, but now his attention shifted to the grocery bag. He stretched his arm, placed his hand on it, felt for the contents, then went through them, while I was still stuck between him and the table, too apprehensive to move away.
Bringing forth the pack of beers, he scowled, then looked at me, briefly confused:
"How did you…?" the question hung, interrupted by a thought I couldn't fathom.
I stared mutely, feeling guilty, not knowing what to say… was he onto me? He certainly seemed so: his eyes investigated my face, looking for signs, expectant, angry… then thinking, reflecting, concluding.
He looked away with what seemed like a long, exhausted sigh, before meeting my confused glare once again, this time a softer expression marking the familiarity of his face, his body relaxing into a less intimidating stance – the Chris I knew.
A cocky, comical smile threatened to stretch there, which helped me lower my guard.
"What do I do with you?" He scoffed, the conclusion to a trail of thought he didn't share, and I colored.
And as he stretched to pull free a single can from the pack, I stiffened between his arms, my face so close to his neck I thought he'd embrace me… I longed for it, thinking I well deserved it, for all the stress I went through to get those beers… but he wasn't allowed to know that, of course: all the stress from all the lying. I merely smiled, willing enough to forget his previous burst of an ill mood, whatever brought it to surface. I just hoped it wasn't what I thought it was.
…Willing to forget, but ultimately unable to.
Though my 'mission' had been successfully accomplished, Chris still seemed off, somehow. More cautious, less friendly, edgier… His eyes not as warm as I was accustomed; his smiles more acid; sarcastic remarks replaced his teasing amusements; and a generally more pensive mood put him quiet. I say this because that evening I lingered by him, reluctant to be yanked from his side – seeing him mysteriously angry made me feel insecure and scared, and for some reason that made me desperate for his attention, any attention, as if he would disappear like a daydream if I turned my back, or blinked for too long.
Noticing I wouldn't let him go about his business – more specifically, upstairs, to what was now his house, to the bedroom he subtly didn't want me peeking into anymore – he suggested we play cards again, observing that this time he wouldn't pull me over his legs, or between his knees, or provide me with any other chance to give him a case of the blue balls.
"W-what is that… 'blue balls'?" I asked hesitantly, predicting, by the cunning in his eyes, that the answer might make me painfully embarrassed.
A flash of annoyance crossed his face, translating into yet another sarcastic smirk:
"Oh, you don't know it, do you? Of course you don't…" he scoffed "…I'll tell you, eventually. Now shuffle." He demanded rather bossily… like a teacher. A short-fused coach. Yes… he now spoke and acted much like he did to all those other kids at school, with that keen edge of impatience and insufferableness… of superiority, distance… as adults are wont to do when they're talking to children. It made my insecurities grow even further…
Still, for some trick of the mind, apparently I played my best. My performance was drily praised by short, cold remarks. No conversation happened in between, no chuckles and no smiles, not anymore. Friendly Chris had been replaced by a coach-like, suspicion-filled replacement, who eyed me sideways whenever he thought I wasn't looking, searching for signs of mischief. I sat stiff and uncomfortable, calling or folding as I best remembered the rules of the game, Chris's brow invariably furrowed, his lips pursed, his attention focused on studying me…
The night grew darker around us, the neighborhood quieter. The game, the time, the dragging hour, it all grew into a torture for me. When at length I won a round, not because I had bluffed well or because I had the best hand, but because Chris was too busy to mind the game, it crawled over me – Desperation grew to the point that I saw myself, who normally couldn't even think of being so confrontational, moving to demand in anguished earnest:
"Chris…" his eyes, framed by coppery, tense eyebrows, shot at me with haste and attention. "Wh- Are you - " Finally, I settled for a less personal question "…Is everything okay?"
His eyes hawk-like, distrustful, aggressively regarding me… My body stiffened.
"A touchy subject, Abby." He sighed, and I received my own name as if it was a blow to the heart. "…One I hate to address, but you compel me."
He stared, studying my reaction unamused.
"W-what subject?"
"Secrets!"
I shuddered.
"I know you can appreciate that everyone needs them. You can… can't you?"
His eyes narrowed, wrenching the answer out from my physical responses. I grew vertiginously nervous.
"Secrets? I … I wouldn't… I mean, I never thought about it like that. Wh-what exactly-" Speech froze, defeated.
"I'm not talking about the morality of it." He corrected, unrelenting. "…but the practicality. Many secrets must be kept, I know that. Some more than others. Do you?"
I swallowed the massive lump in my throat:
"Do I what? Keep them? I don't – I wouldn't…"
"Do you understand they must be kept?!" Again, he rectified with a coach's voice tone – one that made me want to cry on the spot.
"I… I do."
As an infernal heat climbed up to my forehead, I thought I might faint, or wail, or throw myself at his feet begging for forgiveness… But I didn't move: the weight of his uninterrupted stare prevented me, it willed me sit quietly and not speak out of turn, like child that I was. The child I was sure he knew I was… because I fucked up. How could I have fucked it up so badly?!
"Specially…" his voice picked up, demanding I uncloud my racing thoughts and resume proper listening "…between two people. Don't you think? Look at me! Yes, like that: Well, Abby? Do you agree it's important to keep a secret between people who are close?"
"close?"
"Yes… close. The closer two people get, the quieter they must be to others."
I frowned, beginning to suspect this conversation was headed somewhere else than my shameful lying.
"Important? Well… y-yes." I risked.
"Then I must demand it – your silence. Make all we have between us a secret..."
"O-of course!" I jumped at the change of tones.
"I'm afraid that – given the circumstances of that day, of your helping me escape… Don't be alarmed, but I'm afraid the police might come looking for you."
Alarmed! I was so relieved I couldn't help but smile…
"…knocking from door to door, to be more specifically… until they find you."
They didn't have my face, they didn't have my name… still, the officer from earlier asked about any strange occurrences at school. It was easy for me to connect the dots, then: the officer must have knocked on the door while I was away, perhaps Chris received him, heard his inquiry… Was that why he seemed so nervous, so angry? I chose to think so – that it had nothing to do with my blunder.
"He'll come. He'll want to talk to you…"
I smiled – a mixture of relief and confidence as I readied to dispel his concerns and call the matter resolved. Until…
"You are not to talk to him."
I frowned.
"But…"
"That will be our secret!"
"I wouldn't tell him about you, of course I wouldn't! Instead, I could just-"
"No! No cops!" He interrupted unyielding.
"But I…" I tried to work my way around saying I had already met said cop, already talked to him, that it was an easy situation to resolve…
Chris sighed, apparently making an effort to contain his frustration:
"No…" he said more softly, kindlier, his eyes warming up to me, his palm held up, making peace "…you're not to speak to him."
I frowned. "But…" cowardice held me in check. Still, I knew I should say it.
"Cops are tricky. They'll make you slip… then they'll suspect something."
"I'm sure I can-"
"They'll – They'll tell you things that... Just - never mind: No cops. Are we clear?"
He demanded from his superior height – this new way of his, of looking down at me, as if he could finally see through all my age bullshit… It made me so nervous.
"Y-yes." I declared, defeated. "…But…" One last spurt moved me, not wanting to keep another lie under wraps…
But Chris stared, his tense eyebrows, his pursed lips, losing patience… his general expression gave me no space for protests, it only demanded compliance. So comply I did. Chris sighed and stared across the table, pensive – one problem had been solved, another surfaced, his eyes spoke.
"There's something else… Something that troubles me."
I stiffened again as his eyes snaked sideways, until they met me.
"It is your friend…"
I listened, learning not to interrupt.
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