Bladed Wings (31 page)

              “A pretty idea.” He tossed the ball again and looked down, “Hey. It’s signed.”

              “Anyone I’ve heard of?”

              “Why don’t you take a look?” he tossed it toward her, a slow pitch she should’ve grabbed midair. She missed and heard the ball smack the carpet. Tristan didn’t say anything as Kayla reached down to get it.

              Everything spun and twisted together. She felt heavy. Colors mixed together to a blur of up and down. Something crawled through her stomach but she couldn’t reach out and steady herself. She hit the floor and tried to push herself up. It didn’t work, like her fingers slipped on the carpet somehow or she just couldn’t get her hands to work the right away.

              “You okay?”

              Kayla wanted to scream something. Nothing came out.

              Tristan reached down with his strong hands and helped her up. “Huh. Took longer than I thought.” She wanted to ask what he meant, but her mouth didn’t work right either. She tried to push him away and ask what was happening. She tried to scream, but nothing got out again.

              Without a word, he shoved her against the bed. He walked over to the other side of the room and kicked the door shut. He didn’t bother to lock it. Music thundered from below. He strode back, that same grin on his face, just as happy as before. Kayla tried to ask what happened, what he’d done but she knew.

              She knew what this was, what was going to happen, and what he wanted, but she couldn’t think the words. She wouldn’t put them together because she still wanted this to be a nightmare. It couldn’t be real, she thought as she looked up at him, helpless.

              Kayla lost track of her heartbeat against the sound of techno beats. The music swallowed the sounds from her throat as she whimpered for him to stop. Somewhere through the desperation, she knew what happened. The drink. He gave her a drink and she shouldn’t have taken it but she did because this was a party and he was a good guy.

              Tristan hopped onto the bed and shoved her down without trying. It was like her muscles were made of glue or rubber, stuck together. A blast of fear shot through her stomach, up her chest, and choked her throat when he reached for the edge of her sweater. In one quick, practiced motion he peeled the sweatshirt from her shoulders.

              Eyes wet, she wanted to beg. She wanted to kick and scream and fight and try to scratch his face, but nothing came out. She wiggled a little, pathetic little motions that he could swat away whenever he felt like it.

              Tristan ran his fingers up her t-shirt, over her stomach and higher.

              No matter the cost, not matter what it took, she just wanted those moments to be over. She couldn’t be one of those statistics. This wasn’t supposed to be her life, and she couldn’t even fight. He said something and laughed, but she didn’t care.
Just make it stop,
she thought again and again.
Just make it stop.

              Trapped beneath him in that stranger’s room, Kayla didn’t give into the desperation at the back of her throat. She kept trying to raise her hands to get something out. Something flickered at the tips of her fingers. Heat streamed through her fingers and burned at her muscles like a reboot or a jump start.

              For a second, Tristan paused and stroked her cheeks, “Don’t worry. You’ll like it.” He leaned down and whispered to her ear, “Even if you don’t. You won’t remember, so might as well enjoy the ride.” Something hot, wet, and slimy slid across her neck as bile clouded the back of her mouth.

              “No,” she managed to whisper. “Stop.”  If he heard, he didn’t care.

              That warmth built up through her fingers and stretched into her palms, her wrists, and up her arms. It surged through her skin and between her muscles. She moved her hands and got them to his chest. She tried to shove him off. Even at her strongest, Kayla wouldn’t have been able to knock him away. He probably spent every free hour at a gym or with his weights. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t get away.

              Even when her throat cleared and she had her voice, the scream didn’t mean anything. No one in the halls or downstairs could hear it. Tristan looked surprised for a second, but just laughed some more, something about this being a challenge.

              “No,” she said again and shoved harder. She thought she’d try to pull her hands free and scratch. She’d tear his face off if that stopped him. He leaned back, grabbed one wrist, and pushed her back down.

              “Doesn’t matter.”

              “It matters.” The heat flared through her palms again. When Kayla closed her eyes, she saw a bright blue glow of light. She couldn’t be sure it was there. Maybe it was a side effect from whatever was in her drink. Maybe this was her brain trying to give her some hope before something terrible happened. Didn’t matter. Kayla concentrated on those hands. She controlled them like they were part of her body. Stronger than she could ever be in real life, one fist shot up, right at her the boy who acted like a good guy.

              It caught Tristan in the head and knocked him off of her. Kayla scrambled back up and swung again. She just waved her hand, but it was like there was something else there. Shimmered outlines of energy or air or something thing moved with her motion. Another gesture launched Tristan across the room.

              He hit the wall with a thud.

              Kayla roll off the bed and stumbled to her feet. One hand to his bleeding forehead, Tristan screamed at her, profanity like Kayla never heard. She didn’t know that kind of rage. His mouth was open, eyes wide, and his teeth looked like fangs. Kayla ran for the door, but he grabbed her by the forearm and yanked. Kayla hit the bed, but was back up and felt that same heat. She swung at him.

              Her fist didn’t connect, but something else did. She felt those swirls of energy and air come back together. It was like an invisible fist, something she controlled and manipulated like part of her body. She thought it and it happened. Tristan was thrown back again.

              When Kayla got closer, she saw the blooded gash down his forehead. He was breathing hard, his eyes shut. When she poked him with her foot, he didn’t react. Kayla swallowed and looked around, not sure what she was supposed to do. Call the police was the obvious answer, but he looked like he’d gone through a blender.

              Kayla shook her head because he could say she attacked him. He could say this was her fault. She shoved her way out of the door.

              Halfway down the hall, she bumped into someone, said a quick sorry, and tried to rush out. She forgot her sweatshirt. She forgot about the half-dried tears on her face or the way her hair was messed up. She didn’t think as she jumped the stairs and rushed down onto the street.

              Kayla got in her car, locked the doors, and felt her heart roar out every pulse. It wasn’t just the music, she thought. That really was her heartbeat. Breathing hard, she couldn’t go home looking like this. She had to calm herself, think of what she’d say, and figure out the best way to get this over with. It didn’t happen. She fought him off. After that, nothing could be proven.

              Kayla took a long, slow breath, pulled out her phone and brought up Erin’s number. She texted something about having to leave early. A second later, she got the answer. A sad face and Erin’s promise that she understood. Okay, that was done. She just had to get home. That’s how she’d do this. One small decision at a time until she was at home, in bed, asleep, and this could fade away. A bad dream. Nothing real. It didn’t happen.

              As she pulled away, Kayla didn’t think about losing control. She didn’t think about her body, unresponsive, paralyzed, and broken. She didn’t think about him sitting over her, that leer of desire and hunger and rage and cruelty all on that handsome face. She remembered him bleeding.

              Stupid, she shouldn’t have felt guilty. He was going to hurt her. He was going to hurt her and he would have enjoyed it. But she remembered the crunch when he hit the wall. She remembered that sense of impact when she hit him. She just waved her hand and concentrated. She just wanted to knock him back.

              She did it.

              Kayla did it with a thought.

              No, that’s not what happened. That couldn’t be what happened. It didn’t make any sense, yet the memory hovered there. It stuck in her head like a cloud or mist of fog. Other thoughts and images and words could get through her head even if the background was always the same. That boy against the wall, blood dripping down his head, hung there. It wouldn’t go away. He was breathing, she kept telling herself. He’d be okay.

              Unless Kayla broke his back or wrecked his brain. She was scared of getting caught. A special kind of rage simmered up her throat. He tried to hurt her, and she was the one scared of getting caught. But then she’d go home, maybe find some bruises, and he might not walk. Or maybe he’d never talk again.

              Kayla shut her eyes tight because morning might bring cops to her door. She could go to them now, she knew. She could go to her parents and tell them what happened. They could test her blood. They’d find something. But that didn’t prove who did it, and then she’d have to say that she hurt Tristan. School, college, lawsuits, too many problems filtered through her head.

              Calm and studious, that’s how Kayla was supposed to look at every question. She did that with everything else. Friends, school, college, tests, classes, Skyler or Everett, her parents, and it all came down to staying calm, remembering what she knew about God and life and truth, and it was supposed to be okay. This time it didn’t work. Her eyes watered some more and she felt her lips quiver and crunch together. She planted her forehead against her wrists and squeezed the steering wheel.

              It was like this pit of fear opened in her stomach and she was scared of falling in.

              One thing left. One thing to find a little comfort or a little guidance. It’s what her parents taught her to do. It always worked. She pushed everything back and forced herself not to think. She didn’t think about the party, the people, the sounds, Erin, Isaac, or even Tristan.

              Alone, Kayla prayed. “God. Please. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what I’m supposed to remember and I don’t know what happened. So okay. I’m sorry, okay? I wish it didn’t happen, but I don’t know what to do. Please help me figure this out.” Kayla touched her fist to her chest, let her eyes rise to the stars at the top of her windshield. “Please. Let this work out. Help me get through this.” Her voice cracked, “Please, amen.”

              Her prayer didn’t change anything. Tristan was probably calling the police. But she had reached out, and she felt that peace. It only lasted a few seconds, but she was loved. She knew that. She felt it in her blood and in her skin. It was part of her. Prayer wasn’t about changing the outside. It was about changing the inside. So she turned the engine on and started driving.

              Kayla let herself drive for another half an hour before she finally circled back to her neighborhood. It was past ten. Both her mom and dad were supposed to work late that night. Skyler would be in her room, playing online and Everett would be in bed or fighting through hordes of pixilated monsters with another one of his games.

              Kayla didn’t know if she’d see her family before she slipped under covers and fell into sleep. If she did, she couldn’t say anything. Skyler or Everett might be upset, especially if their parents went at it again. A slow exhale and Kayla checked herself in the mirror.

              Her skin looked pale and stretched under the yellow lamp. Her hair was still messed up, so she pulled it back into a pony tail and tied her blond brown hair back with a scrunchie. Another second to look composed and she stepped outside and headed for the front door, key tight between her knuckles.

              Determined to get inside, Kayla didn’t see anyone until he asked, “Are you okay?”

              “Seth?” she stopped. Seth Daniels, a guy from school, a guy at the party, someone she used to kind of know freshman year. They weren’t friends, so he shouldn’t have known where she lived or that something was wrong.

              “You didn’t answer my question.”

              She stopped, remembered the answer, and said, “I’m fine.”

              “What happened?” Seth slid down one step, the second, and asked, “What happened with you and the pretty boy at that party?”

              Something wet leaked down her cheek until Kayla swiped it away. “Nothing.” Voice even, it was a good lie. “Nothing. He got hurt. I left. Nothing happened.”

              Seth came closer. When Kayla looked up, she saw his eyes on her. He stared at her like he wanted to see something. “That’s not true.”

              “You know?” she demanded, her fists tight. Kayla never wanted to hit someone, but taking a shot at Seth’s jaw felt like a really good idea. She felt the tips of her fingernails dig into her palm. None of it was any of his business. He didn’t get to act like he cared. He didn’t get to ask any questions. He definitely didn’t get to know the truth. “No, you don’t. You can’t. You weren’t there. You didn’t see anything. It’s not possible. You couldn’t have.”