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    Perfect - 02

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      We are strangers. But I hope that will

      change. Your father and I want you

      and your sister to be part of our family.

      And here’s the thing. I’m worried about

      you. Are you aware of the damage

      an eating disorder can do to your body?

      I know you want to be thin so you can

      model.… What is she talking about?

      “I don’t have an eating disorder!”

      I’m practically shouting, something

      that becomes obvious when Yummy

      Guy’s head snaps in my direction.

      I lower my voice. “I am in perfect

      control and know exactly what I’m doing.”

      She starts to say something, changes

      her mind. Here comes your dad.

      But, honey, you are way too skinny.

      You definitely have a problem,

      and when you’re ready to ask for

      help, I will be here for you.

      Who the Hell

      Does she think she is? I have

      a problem? She’s the one who

      is marrying some loser guy ten

      years her senior. He settles in again

      across the table, head swiveling

      back and forth between Shiloh and me,

      nothing but love for either of us reflected

      in his eyes, and I feel like a total bitch.

      You two didn’t have to wait for me.

      Dig in, girls! He takes a giant bite

      of a very big turkey sandwich, and

      is trying to manage chewing it when

      I hear the door open behind me.

      Suddenly, food flies out of his mouth.

      Who the fuck is that with your sister?

      Guess it’s time for Dad to meet Andre.

      Sean

      It’s Time

      To quit overthinking.

      Quit plotting. Planning.

      Worrying about outcomes.

      Time

      for action. Reaction.

      Putting things into motion.

      Emotion, something it

      isn’t

      easy for me to communicate.

      But there’s more. Lust.

      This snarling inner animal.

      Always

      in the past I have controlled.

      it. For her. But pleasing a girl

      is confusing. You can be

      on your

      best behavior and still not

      make her happy. And she won’t

      tell you what’s going on in-

      side

      her head. You generally find

      out the hard way. So I’m taking

      a risk. But it’s definitely time.

      I Have Never Insisted

      On Cara having sex with me.

      She didn’t seem ready for

      the longest time, and being

      in love with her meant more

      than getting off with her.

      It was enough to hold her.

      Kiss her. Inhale the “her”

      of her. Enough to gather

      in the heat of her skin,

      knowing that she was mine.

      Then something changed.

      That night in the truck,

      something had opened

      inside her—some sudden

      bloom of womanhood I didn’t

      expect. She was a wildcat,

      come into season—enough

      to drive any man crazy,

      and that’s what I became

      when I couldn’t give her

      what she wanted. Practically

      begged for. Betrayed by

      my own body! Thank God

      she didn’t think I was gay

      or something. She gave me

      another chance, and tonight

      we will make serious love

      right here, right now, on

      Chad’s sweat-reeking, not

      real comfortable couch.

      Those girls on the TV are

      beautiful. But I’ve got

      the real deal, stripped

      down to nothing but skin,

      beneath me. She moves like

      an eel. Sinuous. Cautious.

      My kiss is a question.

      Her tongue answers.

      Now she pushes my head

      lower, asking for much more.

      She tastes of soap and salt.

      A knockout combination.

      It makes me high. Makes

      me thirsty. Makes me hungry

      for even more. This could

      easily become addiction.

      Tonight my body hints

      zero treachery. Tonight

      it wants to go for hours.

      “I love you,” I promise,

      though she can’t doubt it.

      I prove it with my mouth.

      My fingers. My tongue.

      This is her first time,

      so I want her to be ready,

      and I think she has to be.

      “I don’t want to hurt

      you,” I tell her. “Ever.”

      She is flushed, her skin

      hot as summer sand.

      I’m crazy again, this time

      with the need to make

      this all real. I lift myself

      over her, working forearms.

      Biceps. She closes her eyes,

      moans as I move into place

      right up against her sweet

      spot. Pause at the resistance.

      “I need you,” I say, before

      kissing her. Before going all

      the way with her. One push

      and we will be joined in

      the most amazing way.

      Connected by love. Now.

      I have to have her now.

      But just as I test the barrier,

      everything screaming yes,

      go, she opens her eyes.

      And out of her mouth

      comes a single word: No.

      I Heard Her Wrong

      I know I did, and even if

      I didn’t, I know she means

      now, not no, so I go ahead

      and push. Hard. Oh. Oh.

      And her eyes pop wide

      and she screams, Stop. I said

      no. Stop, goddamn it. And

      her little fists try to pound

      against my chest, which

      only feels good and I can’t

      stop, even if I wanted to,

      and I so don’t, so I won’t.

      And she starts to cry and

      I don’t understand so I tell

      her, over and over again,

      “I love you. I love you.

      I love you.” Rhythmic.

      In perfect time with my

      body’s rhythmic beat.

      “I love you. I love you…”

      There’s A Strange Buzzing

      In my ears. With a final

      thrust, there’s a brilliant

      flash and the emptying

      is syncopated. My head

      clears as the mist slowly lifts.

      And I see what I have done.

      Cara lies, stiff as old toast,

      tear-glossed eyes staring

      up at me. I told you no,

      she whispers. Why…?

      Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What

      the hell just happened?

      “You wanted this! You

      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

      I’m not the first guy she’s gone out with.”

      I glance at Jenna, who

      for some inane reason seems to be enjoying

      the whole thing. Chill out, Dad, she says.

      I don’t choose who you

      date. Let alone who you get engaged to.

      The room has fallen morgue silent. All

      activity has ceased.

      “Uh, Jenna, maybe we should just go.”

      Mr. Mathieson starts to stand, only to

      be braked by Shiloh.

      You go, he says. Jenna is staying here.

      This Is Insane

      I have no idea what my next move should

      be, other than to do

      exactly as he has suggested. Every eye

      in the restaurant is looking at us—me—

      and that makes me

      extremely uncomfortable. I can’t meet

      Jenna’s father’s gaze, so I speak directly

      to Shiloh. “Very sorry

      about—” Wait. What am I sorry about?

      “Scratch that. I’m not sorry. I didn’t do

     


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