Young Love Murder (32 page)

I walk across to the other side of the black stage, decorated with blue and yellow balloons, and down the opposite steps. Returning to my seat, I glance over at Max and see his satisfied grin, having already been up there. I should also feel victorious at finally being done with high school. It’s kind of hard with a heavy heart. My father is dead, my mother is addicted to prescription pills and I’m planning to kill my first love.

As the hot sun beats down on us, the last graduate accepts his diploma five minutes later and the principal presents the graduating class. Graduation caps with blue and yellow tassels are thrown into the air, minus mine, and cheers go up. I just stand there, still searching for her in the crowd. The crowd is too thick, it’s hopeless and I’m probably being paranoid. 

I’m startled at being gripped around the chest and arms to be picked up in a bear hug. Max is so cheesy. “We did it, dude!”

Not like it was hard, like becoming a doctor. I separate myself from his enthusiastic grip, repeating my thought aloud, “It’s not like it was hard.”

Max looks a little surprised by my lack of enthusiasm. “Well yeah, but . . . we did it!” Again, I’m gripped in his annoying bear hug. My sunglasses start slipping from their perch. Giving up on me, he turns to other classmates and continues his celebration, acting like a maniac. When he starts picking up cute girls in the same bear hug, I finally smile.

While at a late lunch with Max and my aunt, I feel Anna’s eyes on me again. I get up out of my seat, pretending that I have to use the bathroom in an excuse to survey the other diners at the steakhouse. Again, I don’t see her. Maybe I’m so obsessed with her that I’m imagining her in the shadows. It’s not as if she cares about me enough to take the time to watch me graduate.

After our family celebration, which my mom was still unable to attend due to being passed out on meds, my aunt drops Max and me off at my house so we can pick up my car. We’re going to a party at a classmate’s house and I’m thinking that getting drunk sounds like a good idea right about now. They should give me a second diploma for being so brilliant. Once my senses are dulled, maybe I’ll stop sensing someone who isn’t there.

Five hours later, I’m drunk off my ass. Well, I’m actually sitting on my ass on a brown leather sofa at some kid’s house who I don’t even remember the name of. The party is in full swing and my graduating class is celebrating their induction into adulthood through immature acts involving casual sex and binge drinking. I hold up either my seventh, eighth or ninth beer.
To the future leaders of America
! Toasting by oneself is kinda pathetic isn’t it?

Max disappeared with some chick an hour ago and I’m starting to feel a little nauseous. Fresh air is needed. After a minute of struggling, and spilling some beer on the nice dress shirt my aunt bought me to wear today, I manage to pull myself to my feet and stumble out the back sliding door. 

As soon as I step out onto the patio, I get a strong whiff of pot smoke. The sour smell is not helping the nausea situation. I stumble further along to the side of the house, where it’s darker with the sun sinking below the horizon, only to run smack into two people propped against the wall and going at it. 

Laughing in drunken amusement, I’m not in any condition to be anything less than a jerk. “Dude, I hope you’re using a condom, because everyone’s been in that bitch.”

I hear a startled gasp as the girl pushes the guy away, pulling down the miniskirt of her white dress and running her fingers through her blonde hair. “You are such a prick, Gabriel! Don’t forget to include yourself on that list of
everyone
.” Not very bright of her to agree with me, she must be pretty drunk too.

I do a fake shudder. “Ugh, don’t remind me, Carmen. I’m lucky to have gotten away alive, without a fatal STD.”

The guy mumbles something about taking a piss and walks off, zipping back up. Personally, I would have just taken the piss out here, right at her feet.

“What the fuck’s your problem, Gabriel? Haven’t gotten laid since your little girlfriend disappeared?” She sneers while smoothing down the hair she’s already ran her fingers through.

Yeah, Annabelle going MIA after the death of my father is widely known. Obviously my self-imposed celibacy may also be just as widely known. At least people don’t know what a fool she made of me. “Get lost, Carmen.”

Abruptly, her demeanor changes and she puts on a sympathetic face, which I don’t buy for an instant. “Oh, do you have a broken heart?”

I look at her suspiciously. “Not likely.”

My scowl doesn’t deter her from the topic and she takes a step closer, pressing her breasts against my chest. “I could make you forget about her, Gabriel.”

I think about the dude who was just doing her and decide that I definitely don’t want to go there. But maybe she
could
help me forget about Annabelle. The fling that Carmen and I had last summer was fun, until she started whining the words commitment and exclusive, causing me to end it.

Determined to stop being a fool for a girl who doesn’t give a shit about me, I decide to take Carmen up on her offer. Leaning back against the side of the house, I spread out my arms. “Well then?”

She presses against me again and tries to kiss my lips. I turn my head to the side to avoid her lips and say, “No kissing.” 

She pouts, using that whining tone I remember so well, “Well, what
can
I kiss?”

“Use your imagination.”

She gets a wicked smile and starts to unbutton my navy shirt, kissing her way down. 
I see where this is going.
Through my drunken mind, a voice is screaming for me to stop. It’s screaming that I don’t really want Carmen. That it isn’t going to help me forget Anna. I recognize that voice and tell my heart to shut the hell up.

Finishing with my shirt, she unzips my black dress pants and starts to stick her hand past the elastic waist band of my boxer briefs. Suddenly, her whole body goes limp and collapses against mine. What the hell? I barely manage to catch her before looking up into the enraged brown eyes of the girl standing behind her. Even with lighter hair, it’s easy to recognize Anna. Somehow, I think it always will be.

In shock, I begin, “It wasn’t-” Then I stop myself, squashing down the irrational guilt that I’m feeling at Anna catching me with another girl. “What the fuck are you doing here, Annabelle?”

“What the fuck are you doing, fucking someone else?” she yells, slapping me on the shoulder. 

“I wasn’t going to screw her,” I say calmly, surprisingly happy with the drama unfolding. She’s actually jealous. She may not love me, but she can feel some emotions, jealousy being the current one. Daringly, I add, “I was just gonna let her suck me off.”

She lets out an enraged huff and glares down at the girl that I still have propped up by her armpits. “I should kill her.”

“That
is
your way,” I say, as I gently lay Carmen down on the grass. Girl’s gonna wake up with one hell of a headache, especially if she’s been drinking. “What did you do to her?”

“Pressure point,” she says distractedly, then slashes her hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “She’ll be fine.”

“I know all about that,” I mutter bitterly. 

She looks up at me with a guilty expression, which I don’t buy. Then her familiar blank mask returns as she starts to back away. “I shouldn’t have come here. It was a mistake. I just thought . . . .” She looks away in thought before gazing back to me. “Goodbye, Gabriel.” 

I can hear the finality in her voice. She means it. She turns around and starts to walk away. Panic consumes me as I follow her. It seems like I’m always chasing her, across distances short and long. I catch up with her in the near darkness of the front yard. 

Grabbing her from behind, I wrap my arms around her, clasping tightly. Leaning my face into now blonde hair, I can smell fruity shampoo.
Coconut?
Keeping Anna in my grip with one arm around her front and that hand clasped onto her bicep, I run the opposite hand across ribs and down a jean-clad hip. The dark tank top and jean skirt she’s wearing aren’t much of a barrier against what I have in mind. I want to see her in the light so I pull her into the driveway, under the lights attached to the right of the garage doors. 

Figuring that tomorrow I’ll get to blame my actions on being drunk, I continue to hold her. She’s stiff in my arms when I turn her around. Cupping a tensed chin with one hand, I lift her face up to the light. Tears are streaking her soft skin. Now
I
stiffen, asking, “What game are you playing, Annabelle?”

She clears her throat and whispers, “I’m not playing any game, Gabriel.”

“Why the tears?” I ask skeptically. 

She lets out a derisive noise. “Why do you think, Gabriel? How would you feel if you caught me with another guy?”

Laughing humorlessly, I shake her body gently. “Like I’m going to believe there haven’t been other guys in the last six months.” Pretending indifference doesn’t stop me from holding my breath while waiting for her answer. The thought of another guy touching her kills me.

She places her palms on my chest two seconds before pushing me away. I stumble back against the metal garage door with a bang, hearing her say, “Of course there haven’t been other guys. There’s only you, jackass. Why the hell would I be here otherwise?” Okay, the thrill I get from that information is inappropriate since I shouldn’t care. But damn, I do care. Her jealousy and hurt are making me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling in regards to her. Love. Hope. Tenderness.
Guilt
.

Obviously more pissed than hurt again, she stalks down the long driveway, most likely to where she’s parked this battle’s getaway vehicle. I have no idea what she’d even be driving. The police informed me that the yellow Lamborghinis her and the fake Russian had were both rentals.

Once again, and probably not for the last time, I chase after her, catching up on the sidewalk in front of the house next door. I start speed-walking alongside her, intent on not to let her escape again. “Where are you going?”

“Elsewhere,” she responds in an unfriendly tone.

Undaunted, I refuse to give up. “Can I give you a ride there?” What the hell is wrong with me? I want to kill her, not keep her close.

“I have a ride.” She points to the taxi parked near us and I notice the driver waiting patiently in the dark interior. His scruffy face is glowing faintly from the light being cast off the cell phone he’s looking down at.

Grabbing her hand in both of mine, I halt her. “We need to talk.”

She stops and tilts her face up to mine. “There’s nothing left to talk about, Gabriel. I just want to be alone right now.” Her voice starts to tremble at the end and I resist the urge to pull her into my arms.
But I want her to hurt . . . don’t I?

I repeat more firmly, “We need to talk.”

For almost a full minute, she’s silent, then she sighs wearily. “Alright, just let me pay the taxi driver.” Walking over to where the driver has the passenger window rolled down, she reaches into her bag and leans through the window to hand him some money. Wonder what else she has in there. Turning to face me, she just stares, wiping her cheeks simultaneously with both hands. 

Even though I know I can’t trust her or this show of emotion, I still feel awkward about what she witnessed between me and Carmen. But I refuse to feel guilty. Stepping forward, I place my hand on her lower back and guide her in the direction of my car parked down the street. Max will just have to find a ride home. It shouldn’t be a problem.

Neither one of us speaks during the short walk. Once there, I open the driver’s side for her, handing over the keys. Though our encounter was sobering, the alcohol is still rampant in my bloodstream, so it’s best that she take the wheel. Going around to the passenger side, I slide into the leather seat. As she silently drives away, I wonder where we’ll go. We definitely won’t go to my house, where she killed my father. It seems inappropriate. For some reason, I don’t want our encounter solely focused on the past. My hands clench thinking about the fucked up situation we’re in.