Can't Let Go Read online

  We eat our lunch with barely any conversation between the two of us. For some reason, watching her eat brings a happiness to me that I can’t explain. At first she was slow, taking a fry, dipping it into ketchup, and then wiping her hands on the napkin, but once she witnessed my very caveman scarfing-down mechanics of eating, she changed her course to match mine.

  Sitting on the crappy, ripped, vinyl-covered benches, we watch what everyone believes is the grocery store across the street. Some men leave with their heads down and hands in their empty pockets, a sure sign that they lost. Others have wide and huge smiles showing they won.

  Eventually, we leave with the realization that our dads will be finished soon. We exit the restaurant and stand on the cracked-up sidewalk in the most rundown part of town. It’s a surprise everything isn’t boarded up by now. Her hand is on my forearm before I can react and then her lips are on my cheek even faster. “Thanks again,” she softly says before stepping back, leaving me in my own personal space.

  This time it’s not my stomach that’s exploding to life.

  14 years old

  “MIKE IS COMING with me,” I tell my friend, Heidi, who is currently packing for a trip to Cedar Point with her family. I’ll never understand why she befriended me earlier this year when we both were thrown into high school. She’s middle class; I’m poor. She’s pretty enough to be a model, and I’m girl-next-door-tomboy. The list could go on and on to our differences, but it’s nice having an escape when she invites me over to her house.

  My dad moved us for many reasons, one being an eviction notice from the one-bedroom place we’d called home for years. Lucky, though, I now have my own room, well, a curtained off section. But more privacy than the bed in the corner of the family room in our last place. Not that I have to worry too much, since my dad is rarely home. You know that goes along with actually being a parent.

  Since I’ve grown older, I rarely go with him to the Saturday games, and if I do, it’s with the chance that maybe Dex will be waiting there in one of our chairs. But usually a heaviness would take over my body if they were empty when I arrived because he doesn’t go much either. He has obligations like most kids our age. Sports and friends keep him busy in his big house on the opposite side of the world from me.

  Tonight his dad is throwing a party. Some celebration of a big windfall Mr. Prescott was blessed to win. I say blessed, because that’s what gambling is—luck or a blessing from the heavens above. Half of me wonders if it was Dex’s pick that gave him the windfall, but I’d never ask.

  Now I stand in my bathroom, applying the mascara I’ve only been using for a few months and I try to see if my butt looks big in the yellow sundress Heidi loaned me. Twisting and turning, I struggle to gather an accurate assessment in the mirror. Just as I’m about to put my lip gloss on, a knock at the door interrupts me.

  Peering out the peephole, my stomach clenches and a warmth spreads up and down my body. Mike stands on the other side, suave and confident like always. He’s from this side of the tracks, so there’s no feeling ashamed when he sees my apartment while picking me up. He’s two years older and drives, which is another plus for Mike. The only stipulation his mom puts on him is that he drives and picks up his siblings from school. Ever since he sauntered over to me down at the park while I was babysitting the kids next door, he’s been my own personal chauffeur.

  I open the door. His hands are tucked in his pockets, and he rolls back on his heels, that typical panty-dropping smirk across his face. His dark hair is gelled into some form of a messy look that fits him even more, while his tight grey t-shirt clings to his strong arms. “Hey, you ready?” he asks, pulling me into a hug. He’s a little handsy, but we haven’t gone further than second base. I’m pretty sure that’s because of me, not him, though.

  “Yep,” I respond and flick off the lights before we exit out the door. Securing the locks, Mike links his hands with mine, and we venture out of the apartment complex. The car beeps, signaling he’s unlocked it , and instead of coming to my side first, he walks to his own and slides in. Leaving me to open my door. Gentleman he is not.

  The blaring music pours out the windows of his black Nissan Altima. You’d think he was Eminem in some expensive Bentley the way he slouches back with one hand hung over the steering wheel as his head bops to the beat of the rap music. Not to say that my insides aren’t tingling, because Mike is the epitome of the hot, bad boy every girl dreams about and every dad fears. Every dad, but mine. He might have met Mike once, and Dad just nodded his head at him in the doorway.

  We drive up to Dex’s dad’s house, a modest two-story on the south side of the city. Mr. Prescott keeps it up surprisingly well, showing how much more ‘blessed’ he is than my dad. Spotting my dad’s Caprice in the driveway, I instruct Mike to park on the street, so we aren’t stuck waiting for other people to leave.

  Cars continue to line the street and familiar faces smile my way as they walk up to the door. I’m reminded again of this horrible life I normally don’t share with other people. I contemplated long and hard whether or not to bring Mike, but since he comes from the poverty stricken side similar to me, I figured he won’t judge. Plus, I hate being around all these men alone, but at least some brought their wives or girlfriends with them tonight.

  When the front door opens, it’s a pair of blue eyes that bring a sense of belonging over me. “Chrissy,” Dex says in a much deeper voice than I remember. He’s grown, not only in height but muscles have seemed to bulge out. My stomach swarms with butterflies as his eyes hold their steady focus on me.

  “Hi D–Dex,” I stutter. “This is Mike. Mike this is Dex.” I introduce the two boys, and Dex’s vision shifts to Mike. They shake hands, and we walk into the packed house full of people.

  “If you guys want, some of us are outside.” He nods his head toward the back of the house. I glance at Mike and he shrugs, so we follow Dex out the doors.

  A few other kids I remember from parties my dad would take me to sit in a circle around the fire pit in plastic lawn chairs. Mike sits down in the only unoccupied chair, leaving me no choice but to sit on his lap. “Take my spot, Chrissy,” Dex offers, standing, but I politely decline. Then he shifts his attention to Brenna, completely disregarding us.

  Mike strikes up some conversation with a kid to our right about cars and things I couldn’t care less about. Sitting there, I survey the yard, looking at the people I want to be nothing like. People that have embraced the high and low lifestyle their parents have raised them in. Mike’s hand inches up my thigh, taking my dress up with it, so his hand can lay on my knee. Dex turns his attention to me again, staring down at Mike’s hand and then stands up, disappearing inside.

  “Hi, Chrissy.” Brenna slides over, taking Dex’s seat.

  “Hi, Brenna,” I respond and prepare myself to be stuck in a conversation for at least twenty minutes. The girl never shuts the hell up.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” she whispers, pointing to Mike.

  I nod, and a huge smile forms on her face. Nodding her head slowly, her eyes suck him in as though she wouldn’t mind a taste.

  “Nice,” she mouths, and I smile back.

  Then the screen door slams, and Dex reappears, glancing at me first and then Brenna. Shaking his head, he plops down in her seat and concentrates on everyone and anything besides me. Brenna continues to talk my ear off about some guy she made out with last weekend during a game of spin the bottle. Delving in further, she goes a little too far, beginning to tell me how if there was privacy they would have gone up to the bedroom, which peeks Mike’s interest.

  His hand roams further up my leg, but I place my hand on his to stop him. He’s persistent and not stopping. Just as I press down as hard as I can, making his palm dig into my thigh, Dex’s vision locks with mine. Immediately, his eyes focus downward, glaring at Mike’s hand and he shakes his head. I stand up and Mike’s hand drops into his lap. “I’ll be right back,” I mumble, but Mike doesn’t say anything, much to
o interested in Brenna’s conversation.

  I’m not in the kitchen one second when Dex grabs my wrist and swings me around. “Why the hell are you with him?” he asks, and I stand there like a moron without a voice. “Chrissy, he clearly wants more than you’re ready to give,” Dex continues, and I feel like a statue because if I move a millimeter, I’ll breakdown.

  “He’s my boyfriend,” I murmur, and Dex steps closer, making my heart beat faster. “It was nothing.”

  “You don’t need this—” he begins, but I interrupt him.

  “What do you know about what I need? You don’t live my life. Two weekends a month doesn’t constitute living the hell I do every day. Just go back to your big house on the hill with your sweet-as-pie mom that makes your bed every morning, prepares your lunch, and buys you anything you want,” I ramble, unable to stop myself once I get going. I guess there’s always been some form of resentment hidden underneath our relationship.

  Dex steps back, but it’s not anger in his face, it’s sadness. His eyes show such an enormity of sympathy, I want to slap it off his face. “Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t ever feel sorry for me.” I push past him, knocking my shoulder into his arm and out the screen door before my footsteps halt, making Dex stumble into my back.

  Mike isn’t sitting down in the chair and Brenna’s seat is empty as well. Scanning the small patio, I notice the looks of uneasiness in the other kids’ faces. Storming down the brick steps, it doesn’t take long to find them. Mike is pressing Brenna up against the brick wall with his hands up her shirt and his tongue occupying her mouth.

  “Mike?” I question as he’s lip-locked with Brenna.

  “You mother fucker,” Dex hollers from behind me before storming past.

  Taking a break from his game of swapping spit, Mike turns my way.

  “Come on, Chrissy. You and me both knew you weren’t giving it up. She’s willing, and I’m taking,” he says, and before I can respond, Dex’s fist smashes into Mike’s jaw.

  “Dex!” I scream, only bringing more attention to us.

  Mike’s hand touches his lip and finds blood when he pulls it back to inspect it. “You’re a complete dipshit, because you just fucked up,” Mike counters back while swinging a fist, but thankfully, Dex sidesteps it.

  The two cock their heads as their fists jab toward one another. Brenna cheers Mike on, and I scrunch my eyes on how she could be such a fair weather friend. “Just stop you two,” I scold them both, stepping in and out of their tight circle. Dex swings his arm up, and my hand flies off his flexed bicep while his cold eyes prod Mike.

  “Edge!” Mr. Prescott yells from across the yard, but he disregards it. “Dex!” he calls again and Dex turns, allowing Mike to nail him in the side of the head. Dex stumbles back on his feet, but quickly recovers. His fist makes contact with the side of Mike’s face, splitting open his eyebrow and blood pours like a broken faucet down his face, dribbling red dots to the concrete.

  Before the two can continue, my dad and Mr. Prescott separate them. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Mike.” My dad places his arms across his chest, intimidating as he stands two inches from Mike.

  “No way. That boy needs his ass kicked.” Mike swipes the blood from his mouth and spits a glob of red saliva on the pavement.

  “Now come on,” Mr. Prescott steps in, “you know as well as I do, my boy will just end up embarrassing you.” Dex’s head jolts up, intent on hearing the compliments coming from his dad’s mouth.

  “Whatever. Way to let a bunch of old men be your bodyguards,” Mike sneers, cocking his head to the side to egg on Dex.

  Dex pushes his body up against his dad’s back, but it’s my dad that punches Mike this time. Mike’s body crashes to the ground, and he quickly gets up and stumbles out of the backyard. A few minutes later, the sound of his tires screeching and his engine roaring down the street can be heard from the backyard.

  Knowing he’s gone, the two men and one bloody-faced Dex slowly twist their bodies in my direction, scowling at me, as though I’m the one who started this.

  “I can’t believe we’re already at this age.” Mr. Prescott shakes his head, laughing. My dad joins him, and they walk back up the steps. With the scene dissipated, the remaining spectators file back into the house.

  All of the young kids are fixated on us, but there’s no sign of Brenna. She probably went with Mike or found some other guy to get her off. Damn slut.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and Dex steps up to me, still holding his hand to his chin. Pulling at my ponytail, my finger twists my hair around it.

  “You don’t have to be sorry. Just use your damn head, Chrissy. He’s a scumbag.” He scoots past me, and a few seconds later the screen door slams against the wooden frame.

  Wrapping my arms around my body, I sit on the brick steps, feeling more alone than I have in years. A few minutes go by as I listen to the others talk about the fight and complimenting Dex on his strength. Concentrating on the crickets chirping and the few lightening bugs flickering spontaneously in the yard, I try to remember that one day my life will be different. One day, I’ll escape and never return.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” Dex startles me, taking a seat on the stoop with an ice pack covering his knuckles.

  Pulling my dress down over my legs, I bring my knees up to my chest, able to see the damage I caused. “I deserve it. I’m not sure what I was thinking bringing him here.”

  “Hey.” He bends down to find my face. “You never deserve that, Chrissy,” he declares, and I turn my head and relax into a set of blue eyes that, if I’m honest, knows all of my secrets, even though I’ve never divulged them.

  “You didn’t deserve it either,” I repeat, my sympathies directed toward him this time.

  “Hey, these are like hero wounds. I’ll be the bad ass in my school until they heal.” He laughs, knocking shoulders with me. A small smile begins to form across my face, causing his to grow brighter and bigger. “Come on. Let’s go inside and get warm.” He stands up and holds his hand out to me. Taking it, he entwines our fingers, and those butterflies that filled my stomach with Mike earlier repeat their pattern, but this time it’s Dex’s touch wrestling them from slumber.

  Dex walks up the steps, going inside and bypassing the basement stairs, where smoke floats up in a continuous stream and men’s bantering voices boom. We enter his room and he sits on the bed, leaning against the headboard with his long legs spread out in front of him. Although it’s been years since I’ve stepped foot in here, that smell of him takes me back to every other time we escaped and watched movies or played games up here. A ping in my chest spurs the sadness of how much I miss it … him. Scooting over, he eyes the spot next to him, where he wants me to join, but weariness sets in with expectations I can’t fulfill.

  “Give me a break,” he teases, and I hesitantly match his position, leaving a few inches between us. Grabbing the remote from the nightstand, he turns on the flat-screen television. When the screen lights up the dark room, I can now say these televisions are as nice as I thought they were. “What do you want to watch?” he asks me, and I shrug, knotting my hands in my lap. “Will you relax? It’s me,” he says with a huff.

  With that one statement, it’s confirmed that these tingles and flutters in my stomach are one-sided … mine. So I inch my body closer, and we settle into an easy conversation about movies. He flips through the channels, eventually landing on Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle. I’m thankful it’s not some war movie or worse, science fiction.

  We laugh and eventually my eyes begin drooping. After my millionth yawn, Dex hands me a pillow and I scoot down on the bed, laying my head down while still watching the movie. Dex’s laughter shakes the mattress periodically. Hearing his amusement creates a smile on my face, putting me at ease that he’s right by my side.

  DARKNESS STILL ENCOMPASSES the room when I stir awake. Feeling with my hand, I pat the bed but only find a thawed bag of ice cubes. Sitti
ng up, I blink my eyes a few times, taking in Dex’s room. When I don’t hear the water from the bathroom next door or any movement of his return, I decide to seek him out.

  The door creaks open and I descend down the steps, following the shouting and calling of familiar voices echoing from somewhere in the house. Peering outside, I see no one there, so I’m guessing everyone has left except for the true gamblers. The ones that live and die for their easy money because a few times they actually were ‘blessed’.

  Once I’m at the bottom of the basement stairs, I scan the smoke-filled room with televisions lining the walls. Some men are cheering on a baseball team and others busy themselves at poker tables. Spotting Dex, my stomach hardens, all of those butterflies from earlier slowly dying and weighing it down. Standing in the middle of the room, Dex has a fist full of money, yelling at the television.

  The game ends and he screams, “YAY!” I glare as he walks around the room, grabbing money from men’s hands, bearing an arrogant smile. Some men pat his back, saying congratulations while others shake their head in annoyance.

  “You should stick with him. He’s one talented bastard.” My dad comes along side of me and my vision flickers to his face, wrinkled and weathered beyond his years, and then back to Dex’s younger face, full of life. That elated sense of like and security I felt when I looked at him earlier quickly gets replaced with the need to purge my stomach into the nearest trashcan.

  As though he hears my thoughts while his eyes scan the room, double-checking he collected all of his bets, the baby blues land on mine and his lips turn down as he lowers his hat to cover his eyes. Not willing to witness the unraveling of someone I believed was pure to this devil-infested life, I twist away from him and run.

  His big bare feet thump up the stairs after me. I swing the door closed as soon as I step into the kitchen, but his flat hand stops it from shutting in his face. “Chrissy,” he calls out after me, but I continue my way up to his room with him close behind. I bend down to grab my shoes, and when I stand, I stumble back from his closeness.