Toxic (Better Than You) (12 page)

“It’s none of your damn business what my boyfriend does to me.” And then I break away from his hold, cringing as his fingers push into my ribs.
Suddenly I don’t feel like a superhero; just an ordinary girl in need of another high.

March 14, 2009

             
The shift I’m working tonight is just the filler, so I get there at seven instead of five and I leave around midnight instead of three or four. I’ve got a change of shoes for the party afterwards and plenty of roxies to get me through the night. Even though I haven’t stopped thinking about how the coke made me feel. Part of me knows that it’s a dangerous drug, something I shouldn’t mess with, but then there’s the part of me that just doesn’t care. It’s not like I have much to lose.

             
My shift goes by fast and I leave with almost two hundred dollars in cash. It’s a good feeling. As I’m walking to my car, I pull out my phone and find a message from Sam with the address of the party. It’s not too far, and fifteen minutes later I’m pulling into a nearly empty driveway to a beachfront house. But instead of getting out right away, I sit in the car and take a few deep breaths. I have this feeling, deep down in the pit of my stomach, that I should just go home and call it a night. My phone beeps a text message and I pull it out of the cup holder.

             
Get your hot ass in here, Lo. I see your car.

             
Decision made. I cut the engine and jog up to the house. Before I knock, the door is thrown open and Sam drags me inside, shutting it quickly behind me. The house is packed. Not can’t-move-can’t-breathe packed, but definitely more people than the cars led on were here. Maybe that’s the point.

             
“Come on, kitchen’s this way.” Sam pulls me through the crowd by my hand. Most of the people are watching us, or more like me, with looks of interest. They probably all know each other and I’m the new girl. Now I’m uncomfortable. Sam notices my hesitation, though, because she squeezes my hand and tugs me closer to her side.

             
The kitchen is just as packed as the rest of the house with people crowding around a keg on one side and a hookah on the other. Brody’s leaning against the counter by the sink and as soon as he sees me, he pushes off and pulls me into a tight hug.

             
“Good to see you, Lo.”

             
It’s strange being hugged, but I return the gesture anyways. “You too, Brody.”

             
“Time for shots!” he decides, and then he’s pouring vodka and tequila shots like we’re an army of men.

             
The first two burn the whole way down, warming up my stomach, making the already hot room hotter. The third and the fourth go down like water. It doesn’t take long for it to affect me, maybe because I’m already high or maybe because I’m so very willing, but either way I’m suddenly feeling brave. It’s time to dance.

             
“Let’s dance!” I yell at Sam, who only smiles and again pulls me through the crowd, towards the back of the house. There’s a DJ in the corner of a room empty of furniture but not of people. As we squeeze our way through the moving bodies, I’m reminded of the many times Sam and I did this very thing. Of the time that Danny found me and made me his. But I shake away those memories because I’m ready to be free, even if it’s only for one night.

             
My body is loose and soon I’m sweating and laughing. The people around us are no longer strangers but friends, all of us united through mutual intoxication. Nothing matters; not that I have a non-existent Mom, an abusive boyfriend, a drug addiction, no high school diploma, no future. For this moment, I am simply Lo, with no pains or regrets to speak of.

             
I’m so lost in myself, in the moving and the feeling that I don’t notice the body that has sidled up against me or the breath that fans over my ear. I don’t notice that it’s familiar, and not Danny. Not until hands grab my waist and turn me to face him do I see the bluest of the bluest eyes surrounded by blonde hair and golden skin. Like always, his gaze never wavers from mine, intense and probing. I know that he won’t find what he’s looking for; there isn’t anything to find at all. But I don’t turn my eyes away this time, because I’m Lo with nothing to be afraid of.

             
“What are you doing here?” he asks me, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s loud in here but I have no trouble hearing him. As far as I’m concerned, we’re the only two people in the room, in the world. I know I should answer him, say something smart and move away, but my mouth refuses to form the words and my legs refuse to move. “Wheres’ the boyfriend?”

             
Boyfriend. Danny. I have a boyfriend.

             
His words wake me up, like a glass of cold water in in the face. Grabbing his wrists, I move his hands from my hips and take a step back, immediately regretting the cold that replaces his warmth. The things he makes me feel. I’m not sure there’s a word to describe them.

             
“My
boyfriend
isn’t here,” I answer back sarcastically.

             
“He let you come by yourself?”

             
“He doesn’t own me, Nathan. I’m allowed to go wherever I want.”

             
He smirks and nods his head. “Right. How’s your jaw? And your side? The way you’ve been moving the past couple of weeks, I’d say you probably have a few broken ribs.”

             
I roll my eyes and turn to leave, catching Sam’s wide-eyed stare in the process. I mouth to her that I’m going outside and she nods. The crowd is harder to get through on my own, but I manage to make it to the back door and step outside without much trouble. It’s so humid that I might as well be back inside and surrounded by sweaty, heavy breathing people, but it’s much quieter. My heart rate starts to even out. But then the sliding door opens and closes and I know our conversation isn’t over.

             
I spin around to face him, to yell at him, but the softness, the concern in his face stops me cold. “Why do you care, Nathan? Am I doing a bad job at work? Am I a bad investment after all?”

             
“I never said you were a bad investment, Lo. As far as doing a bad job…you don’t really pull in the tips.” He smiles and I can’t help but let a little smirk slip. “And I care because I care about
you.
If he’s hurting you, Lo, you have to let someone help. You have to tell someone.”

             
“And then what, Nathan? I have nowhere to go. I’ve been living with him since I was sixteen. He’s all I have.”

             
Nathan runs his hands over his face and sighs. “You can pick up more shifts at work, make more money. You’d be able to afford something small on your own.”

             
“It’s not that easy.”

             
“It
is
that easy.” He grabs my upper arms and pulls me close, bending down so that we’re nose to nose, eyes locked. “What’s keeping you there?”

             
“Nothing,” I say and look away. More softly, I add, “Everything.”

             
“I can help you, Lo. Let me help you.”

             
Those eyes. They’re so sincere and convincing that I’m starting to think that maybe he’s right. I don’t have to go back to Danny. If I work more nights I can save enough for a small place, maybe something by the beach. I’ve always loved the smell and sound of the water. I don’t need his drugs, either. Actually, I don’t need drugs at all. It’s not like I’m addicted.

             
Just as I open my mouth to tell him okay, to ask for his help in finding a place and picking up more shifts, the sliding door opens and the noise from inside presses in on our quiet space. A rough hand grabs my jaw, strong fingers digging into my cheeks. I know that touch. It’s as familiar to me as my own name. My face is turned, my eyes ripped away from Nathan as someone pulls him back, away from Danny, away from me.

             
“What’s goin’ on out here, Lo?” Danny asks coldly. He doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t really care what’s going on. Just that I’m here and not supposed to be, and outside with a guy that’s not him. As if in slow motion, I watch as his fist pulls back and propels toward my face. The same side as last time. It seems like I might have enough time to duck, to avoid the hit, but it only proves to be useless because just as I move my head, his fist slams into my temple instead of my cheek. It sends me reeling, my world spinning. Blackness threatens to take over.

             
“Danny, man, come on.”

             
“Back the fuck up, Brody. I swear to god I’ll fucking kill you.”

             
“Alright, alright, calm down. Just get her out of here.”

People are yelling, but it’s from a distance. I’m being dragged across the floor, through the house. I can’t get my feet underneath me. My head is throbbing.
Someone should help me. Someone should stop him. But nobody does because nobody cares, not really.

We’ve finally stopped. We’re outside. A car door opens and I’m lifted, thrown into the back seat. The door slams on my foot. It should hurt, but it doesn’t. It’s dark but every so often the streetlamps illuminate the inside of the car. Danny’s driving, his hands wrapped around the steering wheel in a death grip. The whole way home, I pray. I pray to anyone who is listening to spare me, to keep his fists away from me, to keep me alive. Tears gather in my eyes and fall to the musty seat underneath me. I’m helpless, alone, in need of saving.

But no one comes to my rescue. My prayers go unanswered and punch after punch, kick after kick, the very life within me begs to be released along with my tears. My only prayer now is that death comes soon because it’s gotta be better than this.

March 24, 2009

             
Danny said it’s time to go back to work. That if I don’t, he’ll find other ways for me to help with the bills. I don’t want to find out what other ways he has in mind.

Instead of telling him that I probably don’t have a job anymore, I cover up the bruises as best as I can and throw on my uniform. In fact, I haven’t told him anything at all, haven’t spoken a single word in over a week. At first it was hard, but not anymore. I’ve forgotten how little I have to say.
I’ve been reminded I don’t matter. For some unknown reason, I had started to think that I was important. I was put back in my place quickly.

It’
s difficult to drive. I’m sore and stiff, like I worked out too hard. If only it was from working out. The pain is strong enough to be felt through my high and I can’t decide if I should take another hit or tough it out through my shift. That is, if I even have a shift to work. The universe seems to have a personal vendetta against me, though, because when I pull into the employee parking lot of the bar, Nathan is just walking outside with his phone in his hand. Trying to keep my eyes off of him and on the road in front of me, I park the car and gingerly step out. He’s still standing in the same spot, just by the back door, staring at me like I’m Jesus come back.

Different scenarios run through my head; him yelling at me, firing me, not allowing me inside to say bye to the girls. Or him judging me, questioning me, forcing me to talk to someone. None of that happens, though. In fact, what he does completely blows my mind. As I come to a stop in front of him, we both stare at each other silently. Then he reaches up to my face and traces his finger pads along the line of my cheekbone, my jaw, my lips. It’s almost as if he’s confirming that I am indeed alive. When he’s thoroughly convinced that I’m standing in front of him, he envelops me in the most comforting hug I have ever received. My arms slide around his waist without my intentions and hold on to him for dear life.

I don’t know when they begin, or why, but the tears seeping into his black t-shirt surprise me more than anything. They fall so freely, so quietly, that I continue to let them fall and soak into him. It feels good to let it out. My shoulders shake. My breathing becomes raspy. My hands fist his shirt. All he does is hold me, sooth me, assure me that everything will be alright. When he’s the one doing the holding and the promising, it’s easy to believe that it could be true.

When it feels like I can’t possibly dispel any more liquids, Nathan pushes me away gently only to take my face into his hands. “I thought you were dead,” he says, his face a mask of concern and pain and disbelief.

I laugh, wipe my nose on the back of my hand. “Unfortunately I am most definitely still alive.”

“God, Lo. Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.” Nathan sighs and then lets go of my face. Takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair, leaving it to rest on the back of his neck. “You gave me the wrong address on your application.”

Shoeing the gravel in front of me, I nod. “Guilty.”

“I went looking for you.”

My head snaps up. “Why?”

Now Nathan’s expression is incredulous, almost like he’s offended that I asked. “What do you mean
, why? Your
boyfriend
hit you and then dragged you out of that house by your arm. Shit, Lo, I thought he was going to kill you.”