Perfect (26 page)

told me so. In fact, you

practically raped me.…”

She sobs, and her entire

body shakes with the force

of it.
No.
You raped me.

Her voice slices, tempered

steel.
I told you to stop.

DNA Evidence

Soaks into Chad’s lumpy

sofa in sticky, red ropes.

But I didn’t rape her.

“Cara. We both wanted

this. I love you so much.

Please don’t say I raped

you. I’ve waited for this

for months and months,

until I was sure you were

ready. And I was more than

sure tonight.” Cable TV moans

and groans remind us both

of how this little episode

went down. I nod toward

the noise. “You even liked…”

She strong-arms me aside,

jumps up, stalks over to

turn off the tube, blood

trickling down her legs.

Bastard. You set me up.

I have no idea what she means.

Sudden anger is a tornado,

hurtling through my veins.

“Look. I’m not sure exactly

what happened here, but you

are everything to me. Even

if you weren’t, you have

to realize you can’t get

a guy all worked up, then

tell him to stop. It’s not fair.”

Cara snatches her clothes

from the floor, stomps off

to find the bathroom.

Rule one of the
Rapist’s

Handbook.
Blame the victim.

I run to catch her, grab

her shoulders, swing her

around, pinch her cheeks.

“You shut the fuck up, hear

me? I. Did. Not. Rape. You.”

When I Let Go

Of her face, crimson finger-

shaped marks remain. Jesus.

“I’m sorry, Cara. Really,

I am.” I reach for her, but

she slaps my hand away.

Don’t touch me. Ever again.

I can’t believe I trusted you

enough to be here like this with

you. Can’t believe I thought

I was in love with you. Stupid!

“Cara, please. I didn’t mean

to hurt you. I wanted to

make you feel special.

You are in love with me.

You have to be. I—I…”

Her lips curl in a feral snarl.

May I go now? I’d like to get

rid of the… residue.
She

doesn’t wait for an answer,

but leaves me to consider

what all this means. Have I lost

her? No way, right? She’ll think

things over, and understand

that this was a mutual fuckup.

Of course she will. And I’ll figure

out a way to make it all up to her.

Losing Cara would mean losing

pretty much everything good

about me. I’ve programmed

my entire existence around

constructing a life with her.

College. Career. Marriage.

Family. Together. With Cara.

Because what good are

any of those things alone?

She Emerges

From the bathroom, ghostlike.

Pale. Silent. A colorless shadow.

“Give me a few and I’ll take

you home.” I really need to pee.

And it would probably be good

not to have any residue on me,

either. I run the water hot,

wash traces of blood from

me. Chase them all the way

down the drain. I want to puke.

Instead I get dressed. Comb

my hair. Pull myself together.

She will forgive me. I’m sure

she will. But even before

I open the scarred white door,

I know she is gone. Amplified

by the empty room, the
whoosh

in my ears is deafening. I could

run after her, try to find her.

But what good would it do?

Andre

What Good

Can come of one-sidedness?

A house with a single side

is nothing more than a wall.

Not much in the way of shelter.

What good

is there in chasing rainbows?

Even if you found yourself

haloed with prismatic light,

would it

promise a happy ending?

Could an ending do anything

but break your heart? And

yet, what good would it

do to

shutter your windows, never

dream of rainbows or find hope

in promises? Why choose to

walk away

rather than hold your ground

and fight for love?

Fight For Love?

Would I? Could I? Should I? If it came

down to fighting

someone else for Jenna’s love, I might.

But fighting to hold on to her love

is something else.

Especially considering I’m not sure

she loves me, or if she’s even capable

of loving someone.

Hiding somewhere in that girl is a soul

defined by pain. I don’t know what sort

of hurt left her fragile,

and she would argue that she’s strong

as brick. But beneath her wall of bluster

is uneven ground.

A good hard shake could bring it all

crashing down. The question I keep asking

myself is, do I want

to be standing there when it happens?

I Really Have No Option

Any crumbs of choice blew away

the first time

she kissed me. And she knew it too.

Now I’ve got you right where I want

you,
she said. Of

course “where she wants me” seems

to change, practically from day to day.

And where she wants

me today is having lunch with her father

and his fiancée. The one she’s pissed

about. My gut tells me

this may not go well. We arrive at Rose’s

a full half hour late. Jenna is always late.

But this was, I’m

pretty sure, a deliberate grand entrance.

She never ever talks about her dad.

And I’m really

very sure he has no idea about me.

That Theory Is Confirmed

The second we walk through the door.

Who the fuck is that

with your sister?
The words slap the air,

accompanied by chunks of sandwich.

Way to break it

to him, Jenna. At least her mother

didn’t yell. I consider making a sharp

U-turn and running

like hell. But Jenna tightens her grip

on my hand.
Come on,
she says.
He

won’t hurt you. I

won’t let him.
And she drags me across

the short distance to the food-sprayed

table.
Sorry we’re

late. I had to change my tampon.
Man!

If looks could kill, I’d be embalmed

already. Jenna’s dad

is seriously disturbed. By us? Me? Both?

Kendra says nothing. Just sits, staring

at us with a mixture

of amusement and—relief?—in her eyes.

The fiancée keeps one hand on Jenna’s

father’s arm, as if

that could keep him safely anchored.

Jenna pushes me into an empty chair.

I am starving.
She checks

out Kendra’s plate.
Not for spinach,

though.
We’re all transfixed, even her

father, who clearly

can’t quite process what he’s seeing.

Finally Jenna notices our blank-eyed

gawk.
What? Oh.

Introductions. This is my boyfriend, Andre.

That’s my dad. And that…
She points,

quite rudely.
Uh, not

sure what her name is.
Back to the menu.

Part Of Me

Wants to break the spell Jenna has put

us under. Another

part knows I really need to keep my mouth

shut. And there is still that little voice that

keeps insisting, “Run!”

I look at Kendra, eyes begging for help.

But it is the fiancée who finally speaks up.

I’m Shiloh. Glad to

meet you, Jenna. And you, too, Andre.

Jenna ignores her, but my manners kick

in immediately. “Thanks

so much, and very pleased to meet you, too.

And you as well, Mr. Mathieson. Oh, and

congratulations on

your engagement.” I extend my right hand.

What was anger just seconds ago swells

into palpable fury.

Listen here, boy. I don’t know who you

are, and I don’t want to know, but if

I were you, I’d get

the fuck out of here right damn now.

“Excuse me, sir, but I don’t understand

what I did to make

you so angry. Is it dating Jenna? Because