Ellison
My heart drops and my throat tightens. Drix is gone. I don’t know why it saddens me, but it does.
The song ends, Andrew releases me, and we both politely clap for the jazz band. The scent of Terry Clark’s strong and sour cologne smothers me, and I search for another smell for comfort. The scent of spilt champagne, the bacon in the hors d’oeuvres, the trace fragrance of Drix’s rich scent that stayed with me long after our afternoon together.
Reclaiming my game face is key, and I need to control the turmoil in my mind because more conversations are waiting to be had. More smiles, more handshakes, more hugs, and I tremble. The thought of another man touching me after I was mauled by Terry Clark’s eyes, by his words, by his hands causes nausea to twist my stomach.
Terry Clark. Talking with him was hell, and dancing was worse than death, but I didn’t know how to say no without offending him and he is not a man I can offend. In fact, he was on the short list of people my parents told me to keep my mouth shut around.
This was the type of scenario that caused me to call Henry crying months ago. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. Perfection. I will be perfection, and I will gain my parents’ approval. I will convince them to let me take coding this coming year. I will earn that internship, but I had no idea perfection meant selling a portion of my soul.
“You look pale,” Andrew says. “Let’s go outside for a few minutes. Give you a break.”
Andrew offers me his elbow, and I loop my hand around his arm.
“Just a few seconds, Ellie, and I’ll have you out of here. Fake it for a bit longer.”
Right. Appearances. They’re important. More important than the tears I’m not allowed to shed because I’m angry. More important than the fact that my skin feels tainted, that my body feels used and that I want nothing more than a scalding shower.
More important than an entire room of people who just witnessed that show and did nothing because Terry Clark has lots of money and he has a lot of power and he and my father often butt heads because my father doesn’t like to be owned.
Andrew leads me through the entrance marked No Entry, the one the waiters and waitresses have used. We go down a long hallway, then out the exit. My heels click on the concrete of the loading dock, and my cold skin is shocked by the humidity of the hot, dark night. I release Andrew and gasp for air as if I’m a fish out of water.
My hands run over my arms. Fingernails scraping. Like that will be enough to rid the memory of Terry Clark touching my skin, of him “accidentally” brushing the side of my breast and of him squeezing my butt before he left me with Andrew.
You’re so grown up now, Ellison. A woman. I bet you gain the attention of many men. Bet you’ve had experience with many men. Your father is smart to use you.
Flipping pervert. “That man needs to die.”
Andrew chuckles, my hands begin to shake, and I want to hit myself when a renegade anger tear slips down my cheek. Men suck, and Andrew belongs in that category.
I spin and stick a long pointed fingernail into his chest. “You think this is funny?”
“No,” he answers, yet he’s all mocking teeth. I have never wanted to slap anyone so badly in my life. I take that back. I have wanted to slap several people in my life, and Andrew is, once again, on the list.
“Take off your jacket,” I demand.
He proves he’s the devil when he permits that evil smile to widen. “Why, Ellie, I’m honored you’re still crushing on me, and while I’d like to strip for you and get it on, we’re going to have to wait until you’re eighteen. I have a no-minors rule, but the moment you blow the candles out on your cake, I’m game.”
“You’re sick, and I go by Elle.”
He shrugs one shoulder, still smiling. “You’re the one telling me to take off my clothes.”
“I want your jacket so I can sit and not ruin my dress, you moron.”
That grotesque smile doesn’t wane as he slides his jacket off and dangles it in the air by two fingers. I shove the middle of his chest with my fingernail, and he rocks before I snatch the jacket. Lightweight. Andrew is tall, and he looks solid, but unlike Drix, he moved.
I spread his jacket over a bench and sit. Every muscle in my body sighs in relief, especially my ankles that are tired of maneuvering in heels I’m sure are a form of capital punishment in other countries.
“I was there when your parents told you to stay away from Terry Clark,” Andrew says.
I take off my shoe and consider throwing it at him. “He approached me.”
For 1.2 seconds, I consider reminding Andrew that my parents threatened him with death if he left my side tonight, but I don’t. Doing so would make it sound like I needed his help, and admitting that makes me feel weak.
“The Elle I knew a year ago would have given Terry Clark a verbal beat-down and a slap that included claws and his blood. But I guess your dad is right—you’ve matured. Seems a lot changed while I was gone.”
I circle my ankle to ease the tension. “When did he say that?”
“Before the fund-raiser began. I overheard him talking to your mom.”
My head snaps up because I wasn’t expecting that response.
“Your dad thought you were going to fight him on that damn dog you convinced the felon to take on, but he said you stood there, took your punishment and agreed to everything he laid out for you without argument. Both of your parents were impressed. Have to say, I am, too. I thought everything with you was always a fight, but I guess you’re learning how to play the game.”
Andrew’s monologue is salt on a bleeding wound. I’m being torn apart. Between who I am to the core of my being, the person who would have stood up for herself, and the person I’ve been asked to pretend to be. Have to admit, I’m ashamed, at least when it came to Terry Clark, that I did keep silent.
Mature. What does being mature mean? Mature feels an awful lot like being tamed, and so far, I’m not caring for the view from my cage. “Why does being mature mean I have to let people treat me like crap, all while I smile and act like I’m grateful for being dumped on?”
“If you look at it that way, we all might as well hang ourselves by a showerhead now.” Andrew removes a package of cigarettes from his pocket and knocks them against his open palm.
“You shouldn’t smoke,” I say. “Studies have proven it will kill you, and if that doesn’t change your mind, studies have also proven it causes you to age faster. You seem a little too self-obsessed to be okay with wrinkles at twenty-five.”
“This is Kentucky. It’s politically correct to smoke.”
I shoo him away with a flick of my fingers. “You’re wrong, but if this is how it has to be, then go be politically correct farther down. I don’t want to smell like smoke, and I don’t want to die from secondhand lung cancer.”
He does what I ask by positioning himself downwind of me, places the cigarette in his mouth, and cups his hand over the lighter. I watch as the flame sparks to life. A few puffs in and ashes form at the tip. Andrew places the lighter in his pocket, draws in a deep inhale then releases a long stream of smoke.
“You really going to do this, Elle? You want in on the political game?”
“No on the game, but changing the world is a good thing. I don’t mind helping Dad. He does amazing things for people who need help.”
“You should join the Peace Corps if you want that daydream because politics is a game. Even you can’t change that.”
While the Peace Corps is admirable... “I believe in my dad. I believe in what he’s doing. Guys like Terry Clark are awful, but my dad is someday going to make people like that obsolete. No more playing their games. No more letting money have power. He will protect the people.”
Andrew flicks the ashes. “You think that’s how it is?”
“I know that’s how it is. Dad came from nothing, and he remembers where he came from and how hard it was. Dad wants to help people.”
He watches me as he sucks on the cigarette again. With the exhale, he shoots the smoke into the starless night. “Here’s the truth even your parents won’t tell you because they don’t have the heart to kill that innocent optimism that even I find attractive—you can’t fix things without compromising yourself and your beliefs.”
“I have a hard time believing that. My father stays very true to his beliefs.”
Using the hand with the burning cigarette, Andrew points in the direction of the ballroom. “You think your dad likes Terry Clark?”
“I know he doesn’t.” My father loathes that man.
“Yet this is your father’s party, and Terry Clark was invited. That man treats all women like dirt, but he’s on the invite list to every fund-raising function because he has money and he owns a lot of people in the right spots, and your dad is smart. He knows if he wants the programs that are going to make the world a better place, then he has to make deals with the devil himself. Terry Clark included. Your dad takes money from Clark, and with the amount of money Clark gives, he expects his phone call to be answered.”
“Dad doesn’t bow down to Terry.”
“Not on all things he doesn’t, but he bends on some. In order to win, you have to lose. That includes your precious morals you wrap yourself in.”
“That’s not how it should be.”
“Is and should are two different things. You know this—at least deep down you do. You kept your mouth shut with Clark tonight because you instinctively know how to play the game. Just like your dad.”
“My father is a good man.”
“Your father knows how to get things done. He knows how to take care of the greater good. That, Elle, is politics.”
“How Machiavellian of you.”
“I’m assuming you’re referring to me being smart.”
“I was aiming for deceptive. You know, the bad part?”
“Morality is subjective. Being king and making sure your country is safe and solid means making tough choices. Your dad knows how to make the choices for the greater good.”
“My father fights for everyone.”
“Your father invited Terry Clark.”
Pure fury and my voice rings out into the night. “If my father saw what happened tonight between me and Terry, he would have stepped in.”
Andrew meets my glare, holds it for a few seconds, then drops his cigarette, grinding it out with his shoe. “We’ve been gone for too long. Are you ready?”
I stand, Andrew reclaims his suit coat, shakes off the dirt, puts it on, then offers his arm. Another part of my soul sends a warning shock at the idea of caving in and accepting his offer. “I need a few more minutes on my own.”
“Suit yourself. But if your mom and dad ask where you’re at, I’m not covering for you.”
Andrew returns to the hotel, and I lean my head back wishing the clouds would part and I could find some stars. Searching the night sky can negate all the things that weigh me down and make me feel I’m drowning. Some people hate knowing they’re such a small piece of the universe, but I prefer it. Makes my problems seem less encompassing.
Footsteps and I glance over my shoulder. A shadow rounds the corner, and I ease closer to the door, my fingers gripping the handle. While I’d like my few minutes alone, I’m not suicidal.
But then a familiar face enters the light, and so much happiness explodes from me I could be compared to a supernova. “How did you know I’d be out here?”
Drix is no longer in the suit from earlier, but in a pair of jeans that hang loosely off his hips, and he’s in the same snug T-shirt as when he was in my room. “I didn’t. I needed to clear my head.”
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Drix rubs the back of his neck. “Sometimes I have demons that like to ride me hard, and being outside helps scrape them off.”
I want to ask what the demons are he’s referring to, but if he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. “I don’t know about you, but that fund-raiser was pretty brutal.”
“You okay?” he asks as he shoves his hands into his pockets.
“I will be. I’m not interested in Andrew.”
His eyebrows methodically rise, and I can’t read if he thinks what I said was crazy or interesting.
“I’ve told you about Andrew, but I thought I should clarify that Andrew and I are barely friends, and most days I lean toward thinking he should be neutered.”
“This is you being direct again.”
“I thought it would be easier than lying in bed tonight, staring at the ceiling, wishing I had said that to you. Then imagining a million scenarios of how I could drop it in conversation later because, while I danced with him, I like you.”
I like him. I said it out loud, and while it’s obvious I like Drix as a friend, I like him as more than a friend. There’s this surge of excitement and fear, and waiting for him to respond is absolutely painful.
“I was thinking.” Drix watches the ground, not me, and I hate the distance that’s between us when we were so close earlier. “Maybe your family and your dad’s staff have it right. Maybe we should stay away from each other.”
Blood drains from my face. “But I like you.”
“I’m no good for you.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m right.” Drix steps back, widening the gap between us, and the action feels so heartbreakingly dismissive. “I’m drawn to you, but if this goes bad, I have too much to lose.”
His words strike me like a sword. “That doesn’t sound like you’re bad for me. That sounds like I’m bad for you.”
“I’m on probation. I mess this up, they don’t pat me on my head and send me to my room. I go to prison. Not juvenile detention. Prison. And the last thing I want or need is prison. This isn’t a game. This is my life. Two weeks ago, when we found Thor, I almost kissed you. Kissed you. The governor’s daughter. And, Elle, if I’m alone with you again, I’ll do it. I’ll kiss you and I’ll want to keep kissing you and I’ll want to keep holding you. My life falls apart if this goes wrong.”
“Then we don’t let it go wrong.”
His arms go out from his sides as if I should be understanding something I’m obviously not. “We don’t get to decide which way it goes.”
“Yes, we do. We decide. We make it happen.”
Drix scrubs a hand over his face, and just the fact he’s struggling hurts. “That asshole touched you tonight, and you let him.”
My body goes numb, and it’s hard to catch a thought. That man did touch me. In ways that weren’t okay, and...as much as I hate myself...I did let him. I didn’t push his hands away, I didn’t scream, I didn’t slap his face. I compromised myself.
Drix looks like a bomb ready to detonate, and I’m the one keeping the wires from meeting. But there are no wires, there are words, and the wrong ones could cause the explosion.
“He touched you, and I wanted to hurt him. He made you uncomfortable, and I wanted to make him bleed. I can’t feel this way. I can’t have feelings for you. I can’t be the one to smash an asshole’s face in when he treats you like a piece of meat.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” I whisper.
“No, you didn’t, but this is me when I feel. This is who I was before the arrest and who I don’t want to be. As much as I want nothing more than to be around you, as much as I want to touch you and kiss you and hear your laughter and your voice, I can’t. You and me—it can’t happen. Not in public. Not in private. I lost one year of my life, and I can’t lose any more.”
I’m frozen, and Drix breathes hard like he ran a marathon. “I lost a year. A year with my family, a year with my friends, a year I don’t get back. And I meet you. This incredible girl and it kills me that I’m still losing on bull I had nothing to do with. I’m sorry, Elle, but my family needs me, and I don’t want to be the guy who beats the hell out of somebody because they touch you. I can’t be that guy anymore, and I can’t put myself in the position to be tempted. I’m not strong enough. Not yet.”
Drix finally raises his head and looks straight at me. His eyes are thunderclouds on the verge of rain. My heart aches. I’m losing something amazing before it was even mine. This is it. This is over. The first guy I ever really liked and who liked me back said it’s over.
Air is a struggle as my lungs collapse, but I clear my throat because this is what I’ve been trained to do. Mask the hurt, keep going. “The animal society said they’ll place the puppy’s information on the website for adoption next week. I can stop by, get him and take him to the shelter if you don’t want to wait until they find him a home.”
I think of the cute fur ball I held two weeks ago. I think of how I had hoped to see him again before we turned him over to strangers. It’s easier to focus on him than the sadness. “The no-kill rescue organizations said they don’t have an open spot. So the animal society is our only shot. I hate it because they can’t guarantee he’ll stay alive.”
“He’ll be adopted,” Drix says.
I close my eyes. “I’d give anything if he were mine.” We should have never named him. He became mine then, and losing another dream right now sucks. “I have to go back in, but I’ll come get him when I’m back in town.”
“What about your parents? They’re already mad at you.”
“That’s my choice.”
Drix steps forward. “I’ll take him to the shelter.”
Frustration causes me to choke. “I get it, Drix. You have a lot to lose. I understand, and you’re making the right choice. Taking the dog, not taking the dog, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make it better that the best guy I’ve ever met, the only person I honestly want to be around, can’t be around me. So don’t worry about it. I’ll take the dog.”
“We named him. His name is Thor.”
“No, it’s not. He’ll become whoever his new owners want him to be.”
He flinches as if my words were a slap. “I’ll take care of him.”
Fine. If that’s what he needs to do. Because ripping off Band-Aids is the most humane, I gather the hem of my dress so I won’t trip and place my fingers on the door handle. “Good luck with everything. You deserve the best.”
And I make the mistake of meeting Drix’s eyes. There’s pain in them, and I hate that because Drix deserves better. He deserves that smile I’ve been graced to witness. But I can’t be the girl to put it there, not anymore. “You deserve to be happy.”
I turn away from Drix and go back in to find Andrew.