Rage: A Love Story (12 page)

I open the gate and walk up the crumbling sidewalk. I ring the doorbell and Anthony answers
.

“Is Reeve here?” I say
.

He ogles me. “Who nailed you, bitch?”

“You did, asshole.” It might as well have been your fist, I think. It should’ve been your face
.

Reeve comes to the door and the guy explodes in gaseous fumes. “Johanna. My love.” She takes me in her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She kisses my eye and my cheek and my lips. “I love you so much. Forgive me.”

“You know I do.”

“I need you. I need you, I need you, I need you.”

“I know.”

“I love you, I love—”

I press a finger to her lips. She doesn’t have to say it. I know it. I’ve always known
.

“Come away with me,” I tell her
.

We float to the car and drive off. We drive off the edge of the world
.

• • •

Eye shadow I have. Three shades of brown. Neutral lip gloss. No foundation or whatever it’s called. I brush on sparkly cheek highlighter, which must be Novak’s. It only enhances the cut and the mass of swollen flesh over my cheekbone.

I should probably stay home until I heal.
When will that be?

I am fascinated with my face, a need for people to see me, stare at me. Look at me.

Why hasn’t Reeve called? She doesn’t need to apologize; it wasn’t her fault. Not really. I was so sure Reeve would stop by, the way she does without warning, that I called in sick for work last night. “The flu,” I told Shondri. I faked a cough.

“I’m real sorry,” Shondri said.

“I’ll be in tomorrow for sure.”

“Don’t come in if you’re sick. I can handle it.”

“No,” I promised her. “I’ll be there.”

I check myself out in the rearview mirror as I’m driving to school. I look tough.

Mrs. Goins is the first to say anything. “Johanna.” She stops me in the hall. “My gosh. What happened to your eye?”

“I fell.”

She frowns.

“It was an accident.”

“My gosh,” she says again. She keeps staring at me.

Now I feel too visible. “I’m late.”

“Maybe you should see the nurse.”

“I’m fine.” I scuttle off down the hall, sensing her eyes on me. Now everyone is looking. People turn their heads.

Novak is camped out at my locker. Why does she have to come to school today of all days? She scrambles to her feet when she sees me. “Oh my God.” She covers her mouth with her hands. “What the fuck?”

“I fell.” I nudge her out of the way to open my locker.

“You fell?”

“I tripped on the stairs.” I yank my lock and swing the door open.

“You klutz. When?”

She’s standing too close.

I step back. “Friday or Saturday. I forget.”

Novak’s eyes fuse to my face. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She can’t stop looking.

Go away, I think. You’re not the one I need to see. My locker is empty. Classes are over. Why am I here?

I guess I’m hoping Reeve still has finals.

“Johanna.” Novak opens her arms to me.

No!
“I told you. I’m fine.”

T
he media center is empty. I take that back. One person hunches over a PC, clicking away like a time bomb. As if on cue, she glances up, watches me as I wander toward the silent reading area and over to the beanbag chairs.

I drop into one and shut my eyes. I mentally call Reeve:
Are you here? I need to see you, touch you, tell you it’s okay. I need to—

I feel a presence and open my eyes. “What?” I ask Britt.

Tentatively, she lowers herself into the beanbag next to mine. She leans forward.

“What?” I say again.

“She did it to me too.”

“Did what?”

“Marked me.”

I make a face. Ow. “What are you talking about?”

“You know.”

No, I don’t. Marked her. How?

“She’s mean,” Britt says. “She’s got this ugly place inside her and you never know what’ll open it and set her off. She’ll keep doing this to you.”

“You’re jealous. You had her; you let her go.”

Britt just sits there, staring. Then glancing away like she can’t look.

I push to my feet and sling my pack over my shoulder. I need to find Reeve.

The second I step out into the quad, a hand shoots out to clamp my wrist and I’m yanked backward so hard my shoulder pops.

His case clubs my leg. “Let go, Robbie.”

He holds firm.

“You’re hurting me.”

His hand loosens. He looks crushed. “I just wanted you to come,” he says.

“Come where?”

His eyes meld to my swollen cheek.

“I fell. Is Reeve in the pit?”

He doesn’t answer. He turns and walks off.

If Robbie’s here …

B2 is open. Robbie hits the light and illuminates the underworld. He doesn’t check to see if I’m behind him, but it’s like he knows I am. Like he can smell me.

When he opens the door to the pit, Reeve jumps up from the floor. A human shield, Robbie, blocks my entrance, and her exit. He pushes Reeve onto the loveseat.

“See?” he says, yanking my wrist to pull me in. “I told you.”

Reeve meets my eyes and swallows hard.

“You did that to her,” Robbie says accusingly.

“I know what I did.” Reeve’s eyes never leave me as she gets up, gazes into my eyes, moves toward me.

“Reeve …”

“Don’t.” She jabs my shoulder with the base of her hand.

“I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah?” she mutters. “What if I did?”

Robbie says, “She didn’t mean it. She loves you.”

I blink over at him. He’s fixed on Reeve. She turns away. Did she tell him that? I say to Robbie, to Reeve, “I love her too.”

Robbie steps around me, out the door. Out of our space.

We lie together on the loveseat, touching each other’s faces and eyes and lips. Tracing contours and lines and shapes. Reeve keeps kissing my eye.

She doesn’t say she’s sorry, but she doesn’t need to.

I tell her about Tessa, the baby, how and when it happened. The first baby too. Reeve listens as she touches my forehead, my eyebrow; she kisses my eye. I tell her I understand about her hitting me. She can’t help it.

She watches my lips as I talk. She says, “You’re so stupid.”

“What?”

“To love me.”

“You love me too.”

“I’ll hurt you. I’ll continue to hurt you. Ask Britt. Ask everyone.”

“You can’t hurt me,” I tell her. Fuck Britt. And Melia. Fuck numbers one through … whatever.

“This doesn’t hurt?” She presses a finger to my cut.

Involuntarily, I flinch.

“See? You don’t believe in reality? Physical evidence?”

“I believe in truth.”

She runs a fingertip across my eyelashes. Her eyelashes are scant, both eyes now. “We didn’t even eat first,” she says.

“I
know,”
I say. “Come over later.”

“You didn’t drink the wine, did you?”

I click my tongue. “No. I saved it. I knew you’d be back.”

“Oh, you knew.” A smile tugs her lips. “You know me so well.”

I kiss her nose, her eye. “Plus, you forgot your shoes.”

“Tell me about it. I drove home barefoot and stepped on broken glass in my driveway.”

I get up to check out her feet. “Are you hurt?”

She pushes me back down. She rolls on top and kisses me hard.

Time dissolves.

“Do you have my shoes?” she asks, coming up for air.

“I’m holding them for ransom.”

She gazes at me, into me. She slithers her fingers down the length of my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I say. “More than okay.”

“I should have forced Robbie to come. He would’ve protected you.”

We kiss again. Time washes away.

Robbie bursts in and says, “School’s out.” His case clunks on the floor.

Reeve and I both stagger to our feet, then giggle as we
steady each other. I glance over at Robbie, expecting him to smile, to be happy for us.

He looks… brain-dead.

As we wind through the labyrinth, one sentence circulates in my brain: Robbie would’ve protected you.

I’ve been physically hurt by two people in my life. Reeve, which doesn’t count because it isn’t her fault. And Robbie, when he dislocated my shoulder.

It wasn’t his fault either, but there’s a difference. Given time and love, Reeve could learn to control her rage. She has the capacity, I know.

I’m not so sure about Robbie.

“What’s his name?” Jeannette plumps the pillow while I hold up Carrie’s head. Her eyes are partially open but unresponsive.

Because only guys smack girls around?

“It was an accident,” I tell her.

She motions for me to set Carrie down. As I do, a breath leaks out from between her lips and Jeannette and I both freeze.

But it’s only a reflex.

Jeannette smoothes Carrie’s silk comforter across her chest and shoulders. “It’s always an accident, Johanna. Oldest excuse in the book.”

This conversation is over. “I’ll sit with her for a while.”

“Don’t touch anything. Evelyn has a photographic memory.”

Jeannette’s gaze penetrates me, like she can see into my core. “I’m fine,” I tell her. My core is solid.

I feed her my last bite of chocolate mousse and she closes her eyes in ecstasy. “Rapture,” she breathes. As I slide the spoon slowly out of her mouth, I place my lips against hers and taste
.

Butter and cream. I lick the inside of her mouth and around her tongue. We kiss across the smoldering candle. Without detaching our lips, she comes around the table and slides onto my lap
.

She clasps my face in her hands and kisses me hard, bends my head back on my neck. I think my neck will snap. Come with me, Reeve, I think. I can’t die without you
.

She slips my spaghetti straps over my shoulders, runs her hands down my bare arms, and presses her lips to my neck
.

My arms curl around her waist. Bare, naked skin, soft and velvety. Baby fuzz. Her cami is silk, slick, and cool. My hands journey up underneath and I feel her ribs, her spine, her bra. I trace
both hands around her sides to the front. I locate the snap. As her breasts spring free, she says, “Kiss it.”

• • •

“What are you doing here?”

I jump.

Evelyn says, “Do you have permission to be in here?”

“I, uh …”

She reaches across Carrie and yanks her hand out of mine. Tucking Carrie’s arm under the covers, she says, “Who are you? I’ve seen you here.”

“Johanna,” I answer, standing. “I volunteer at the hospice.”

“As what?”

That’s a good question. “I was just keeping Carrie company.”

“She doesn’t need company.” Her mom adjusts her head on the pillow and adds, “In case you didn’t notice, she’s asleep. She needs to rest.”

She needs to die, I think.

“Please leave.”

Not a problem.

In the public ward, Mrs. and Mr. Mockrie have their beds rolled together. So sweet. They’re both sleeping. Quietly, I pull a chair up and sit, drinking in their peace.

She says, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” I don’t hesitate
.

Her luminous smile radiates sun and moon and stars. She is my galaxy, my gravity, the center of my being
.

We decide to wear white, to symbolize the purity of our love. We buy matching wedding gowns, strapless and snug at the waist, flowing, milky rivers of white satin to the floor. Our veils are lace. Through the snowflake pattern, we gaze into each other’s eyes
.

At the last minute, in the bedroom getting dressed, we decide to walk down the aisle barefoot. She slips a garter up my leg and pauses, moving both her hands around my left thigh. She falls to her knees. She lifts my dress and kisses me, there, between my legs. It tingles. She crooks her finger and I look. She’s left a lipstick print on my thong
.

“Mark me,” she says
.

• • •

“Aggie? Where are you?” Mr. Mockrie struggles to sit up.

“She’s right here.” I take his hand in mine.

Tears bubble in his eyes and I pat his shoulder. “She’s here, Mr. Mockrie. She’ll always be with you.”