Maldeamores (Lovesick) (Heightsbound #0.5) (7 page)

“Excuse me, excuse me,” he says as he steps over the only other two people in the row. He leans a bit and spills some of the popcorn. I laugh at him and my smile is so big because I’m overflowing with happiness at the thought of sitting next to him, just getting to spend time with him.

“Glasses, huh?” he says when he reaches me.

“Subtitles. It’s in French, I forgot to tell you,” I whisper. Lucky plops hard into the seat; it bounces and more popcorn spills out of the tub.

“You gotta be shitting me.”

“Nope,” I say, barely containing my smile.

The movie is beautiful. It’s breathtakingly romantic. About true love and two people who are totally crazy, head over heels for one another. There are obstacles but together they overcome them. The two love-interest actors are so gorgeous that I’m intoxicated and love-drunk from just looking at them.

Every time I reach into the popcorn bucket, my hand bumps into Lucky’s and I feel a rush. Every time the couple kisses on screen, I remember his kiss. What it felt like to have him exhale through his nose so close to my face, the warmth of his breath spreading across my upper lip. What it felt like to have him hard and pressed between my legs. I’d give anything to go back to the roof again—to be the object of his affection.

I sneak a glance at him. He’s looking at me. I look back at the picture.

I’m wet between my legs and needing and wanting him. I can’t tell if the movie turned me on or if I feel like this just from sitting next to my cousin. I sneak a look back again and Lucky is watching me instead of the movie. I bravely hold his eyes for a moment and something unspoken passes between us. The exchange lasts too long and I can feel heat rise in my face. This is what Lucky has been avoiding and it’s me who can’t stay away.

Lucky grabs his head in his hands and groans out loud and then stands. He leaves the popcorn in his seat and moves sideways through the aisle until he can walk forward normally and make his escape through the exit.

I’m crushed. I’m humiliated again. I thought that he wanted me for a moment—a moment I misjudged. The reality of how he feels sinks hard in my gut. He just wants to be my cousin, so why can’t I do it? Why do I have to be the pariah with inappropriate longings? Why do I have to be the awkward girl who’s in love with her cousin? I pick up the tub of popcorn but I don’t eat it. I just want to hold it because Lucky was. I want to recapture some of that energy.

The bucket collects my tears as I cry alone in the dark. I’m not even watching the movie, because seeing people in love hurts way too much. I shuffle through the aisle; I have to get to the bathroom to clean up. Wash my face before all of the movies end and I’ve got blotchy, red, swollen eyes—a dead giveaway that I’m love-struck.

After depositing the popcorn in the trash can, I wash my face under the cool tap. I can control the crying, it’s just embarrassing that he affects me so much. I dry my hands and face without looking in the mirror and wander out into the main area. A woman screams and a monster growls and then the action sequence music starts blaring up, disorienting me more. I can feel that I’m still swollen and wet between my legs. I feel volatile and don’t really trust myself not to cry again.

When I come out, I look up and see Lucky coming out of the men’s room right across from me. His head is down but he looks up with only his eyes, making his stare that much more intense. I want to die on the spot.

“I’m sorry,” I say, wringing my hands together. I didn’t mean to mess up.

“Fuck this!” Lucky roars and I’m afraid he’s really mad at me. He comes at me forcefully, but he doesn’t touch me aggressively. He pushes me to the carpet-covered wall and I almost fall backwards over my feet. He presses into me hard, then tilts his head and kisses me.

I kiss him back so ferociously that I forget to breathe. My mouth slides against his and I swear, nothing can touch me.

This is all I want. Ever. Lucky.

His tongue caresses mine, so warm and soft, but his body is crushing me. It’s not just a kiss either, because his hands are all over me. He touches the back of my neck, grabs my ass and feels my breasts through my shirt. I go for his fly. I can feel his cock pressing against his jeans. I want to do terrible things to him and I want him to do his absolute worst to me.

“Not here, Belén,” he shushes me and moves my hand from his groin. He pins my hands at the wrist against the carpet wall and licks right across my swollen lips. I feel it in my groin. I try to capture his mouth but he’s teasing and smiling and ducking his head away from me. I press my groin into his and suddenly nothing is funny.

“Fuck,” Lucky moans and sticks his tongue deep into my mouth. I suck on his tongue and his lips, wanting to pull any part of him into me.

“Kissing cousins,” Raymond says as he walks lazily past us into the men’s room.

“Oh my God,” I say, stepping away from Lucky and wiping my mouth.

“Shit,” Lucky says, lowering his arms to his sides. He steps back and then rails against the wall, punching it hard.

“He’ll say something as soon as they come out,” I say, my mind gone frantic with panic. I’m about to get caught for doing something shameful for the first time in my life. Way to destroy the illusion I’ve worked so hard to build up. All the bullshit I spouted at the restaurant when really, I’m the fuck-up.

“Naw, Bey, don’t sweat it. Raymond’s practically retarded. I’ll go give him a joint to shut him up.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, my hands shaking with nerves. When I kiss Lucky I get so worked up that even my fear of getting caught jumps ship and disappears overboard.

“I’ll never let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

When he says it, it’s kind of dismissive, casual, like he’s not saying the most monumental thing I’ve ever been told. To a girl with no father and a hard-working, somewhat absent, single mother, to have someone say they’ll always protect you is mind-alteringly huge. A man who cares about me and promises to care
for
me is like a kiss from the pope. It’s like winning the lottery, or getting to walk on the moon.

But when Lucky turns and storms into the bathroom after Raymond, I feel like it’s over. The credits are rolling. The passionate love story with the beautiful French couple doesn’t end so happily after all.

Chapter 10

Lucky

B
elén. She should be like my little sister. At some point she was and I can almost remember feeling nothing but brotherly love for her. Just wanting to play with her. To protect her.

We’ve always been tight. Me and Belén watching cartoons. Me and Belén stealing
tostones
off the plate and eating them on the rug in my room. Playing dress-up, taking baths together. I’d play with dolls for her and she’d play with my cars. We wore matching Halloween costumes, opened presents together on Christmas morning. In every old, faded picture she’s there—always hanging on to me.

I don’t know why things changed or exactly when it happened. Maybe I’m a creep and it was just when the T and A came into play that I really started fiending for her. Come into play did they ever. Belén at eight and at ten was such a skinny little thing that I was terrified the dogs in the neighborhood would get her. I used to give her some of my Halloween candy in hopes of making her stronger. I didn’t know it was bad for your teeth. I felt terrible and cried when she got cavities and my ma said it was my fault.

Belén at thirteen was a whole ‘nother creature. She turned into a woman out of nowhere and I couldn’t stop staring at her, having sex dreams about her, wanting to touch her. I think when she turned thirteen was when I first cornered her and kissed her.

Hitting on girls was always something I was good at. My ma says I get it from my pops. I could make them go crazy with my shirt off or when I whispered in their ear. I guess it’s because it was always just my Ma and me that made me understand women. Belén seemed to like those things too, and then all the sudden the vibe changed, but I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it.

I used to feel like I could communicate with her better than anyone else. Sometimes we’d just look at each other and we could tell what the other person was thinking.

After we first kissed, I knew I would take it all the way with her if I wasn’t careful. Belén had a way of opening me up that was addictive. I wanted to fuck her. Jesus Christ, did I want to fuck her! I wanted things from her that I never wanted from a girl. Like when she first got her period, I wanted to wash her. What the hell kind of guy wants to do that? And what’s even sicker, is that after I knew she had it I would fantasize about getting her pregnant. What? Fuck! Like
that
makes any sense.

Belén scares the shit out of me and I’m constantly fighting to keep my cool now when I’m with her.

I had to make her forget about me like that. I needed to make her hate me.

The easiest way to do that? Oldest trick in the book. Start fucking her best friend.

I guess that makes me an asshole. But I’m an asshole to protect Belén. Yaritza is hot in a neighborhood way. She wears tight clothes and gives it up easily, so say all of my friends. I used to wonder how close Yaritza and Belén really were. They didn’t seem that much alike—Yari was into boys and sucking dick when Bey was into books and church.

I could tell Yari had a crush on me and she cornered me one night at a party when I was drunk. The rest was history, and I always called her up when I couldn’t find a back-up for the night. It crushed Bey hard when she found out and I could see it all over her face. But she couldn’t say how fucked up it was because what was she gonna say? Me and her are first cousins. We’re family.

Belén

Lucky will go off to war and I’ll go to college. Maybe we won’t even live near one another when we grow up, or barely ever see each other. And that’s fine with me because the tension between us is thick like pea soup. I can’t be in the same room with him without sweating and stuttering. When he looks at me my heart races and my eyes flash all kinds of emotions I don’t want him to see. It makes life sort of rough, considering we live in the same building. I’m so nervous around him there’s no way our family can’t see it plainly. So far no one has said anything. But what would they say? Maybe they’d just think we’re either crazy or disgusting. Raymond had to have told Hemi. There’s no way he didn’t. It will come out some day and I hope when that day comes I live far, far away from all of them.

I’m already looking at schools as a junior, because my grades are so high. My guidance counselor, Mr. Sanchez, is walking me through the process because no one in my family has ever done it before. We sit side by side at his computer and he helps me decide which universities to consider. We look at a ton of schools, including some Ivy League ones. I’m nervous that I don’t look good on paper, that I could have done more extra-curricular activities or won some awards, been president of something.

The door is open into the hallway and the kids run past all shouting and screaming because the last bell rang and that means freedom. I usually go to the library after school and finish my homework. If I bring it all home, I get distracted by the television or the refrigerator or the fact that Lucky is only two floors below me.

I’m saying all of my thank-yous and good-byes to Mr. Sanchez when Lucky sticks his head in the door and glares with disapproval.

“Let’s go, Bey,” he says, glancing at his watch.

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s go, I said,” he says more forcefully and jerks his chin in a challenging way toward Mr. Sanchez.

“Um, okay. Mr. Sanchez, this is my cousin, Lucky,” I say, holding my palm out toward Lucky in introduction.

“Yes, Belén. Mr. Cabrera and I are acquainted. Since freshman year, Mr. Cabrera, no?”

“Yeah,” Lucky says, nodding his head too fast and making me feel like he’s on drugs. “Come on, Bey, we gotta go.”

He grabs my backpack, throws it over his shoulder. Then he grabs my arm and pulls me out into the hallway.

“Thank you, Mr. Sanchez! I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything!” I yell back toward the office as I’m ushered away.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Lucky?”

“Let’s just go, okay?” Lucky says, concern scrunching his brow.

“Is everything okay?” I ask. “I wasn’t going home, I was heading to the library.”

“That guy is a creep, Lenny, and everybody knows it. Don’t go in that office alone with him again or I’ll have to do something we’d both regret.” His eyes keep on shifting to the side like he’s worried someone is watching.

“Are you jealous or something?” I ask, my eyes opening wide. “He’s never been anything less than a perfect gentleman to me. I wouldn’t even know how to apply to schools without him.”

“I will fucking kill him if he lays a finger on you,” Lucky says and his eyes are working all over the place. He must be on amphetamines to be acting so crazy. I feel angry at Lucky for bossing me around. How can he tell me what to do when all he does is avoid me? A few of his friends pass by and greet him and Lucky only nods his head in return. He brings his arms up across his chest.

“You know you have to pass a drug test as part of your physical. You’ll never make the Marine academy with shit in your system.” I cross my arms too, mirroring his posture.

“I’m just trying to protect you, Lenny. I don’t want you to get hurt. Ever.”

I hate it when he calls me “Lenny”—it’s even worse than “Bey”. He called me that from the time we could talk and I remember at my fifth birthday party he said it in front of all of my friends. He didn’t mean to tease me, but everyone made fun of me and said I had a boy’s name. Titi made him apologize and he cried when he did it. He’d spilled fruit punch on his white button-down shirt and was only wearing his undershirt. He had on a gold chain and gold baby bracelet to boot. His father gave him those on one of the few times he visited from Puerto Rico.

My heart softens at the memory and my knees feel like silly putty. I’ve loved Lucky for as long as I can remember and sometimes that love feels like a ferocious, wild animal.

“Why don’t you go home and sober up on the couch? Make some tea, play your video games until Titi gets home.” I say it softly to try to coax him. He seems both volatile and fragile. “You can clean it out of your system, Lucky, before the test. Just please don’t do it again. I promise I won’t see Mr. Sanchez anymore. I’ll only communicate through email.”

Lucky nods vigorously, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. His whole body seems to be trembling and I can’t help but grab his hand.

“I have to go study for my chem final, Luciano. Can you go straight home and just try to calm down? Ride it out and not do anything stupid.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can. Lenny, I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say as a few stray tears drip down my face. Tears of glass slipping over hot skin. He quickly kisses my cheek. Lucky and I are always dancing right on the edge of the breaking point.

He turns and walks away down the hall, his gait stiff instead of cavalier. His confidence either blew away with the wind, or was totally swallowed up by drugs. He said those exact words to me at the birthday party where he first outed my nickname. It makes me wonder if it were possible that we were sharing the same memory.

Lucky

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t go in her room. She’s practically never at home, she’s always got something going on at school. Drama, mathletics, debate matches and shit. I got dime baggies on the corner most days to try to make up for when my Ma comes up short with the rent.

I have a key to their apartment, just like she’s got one to mine. Sometimes I go over to grab some snacks or use the washing machine that Tía Betty’s old man installed illegally right next to their dishwasher. Betty used to put clothes in the dishwasher when she didn’t have time to go to the laundry. She works at the hospital as an X-ray tech and her hours are even longer than my ma’s. Weekends, she’s a home health aide, she never has any free time. She’d take the sopping-wet clothes and throw them on the radiator. Hector, her boyfriend, said she’d burn the place down if she wasn’t careful. He got her that machine for Christmas and boy did Belén’s face light up. If it only takes a washing machine to make her happy then no matter what happens in the future I’ll make sure she has one.

I let myself into their place and I gotta admit that I look like a thief. I don’t open the door all the way on account of the squeak. I slip inside and close it softly, take off my shoes so no one can hear my footsteps. There are some strawberry Pop Tarts in the cupboard and I tear them open. It makes me smile to think of Belén eating these at the kitchen table while she squints into her books. I throw my work-out clothes into their machine, turn on the television and then head to Belén’s room.

I come here a lot. I’m probably a total creep. It makes me feel good. For some reason this room always brings me peace.

Nothing is out of place. The bed’s made. No clothes on the floor, not a trace of garbage or dirt. I run my hand over her bedspread and think about her curled up reading. Belén loves books like the hugest nerd, she always has; it was Belén in grade school who made my ma get me a library card. Her books used to stack along her long dresser, but now they’ve taken over completely. All three windowsills are filled up and there are piles all over the floor. Mostly they’re classics for school, but she’s got other stuff too. There’s a book on human anatomy and one on volcanoes. There are paperback romances and a shit-ton of comic books. There are books on gardening and a million philosophy books all stacked neatly in a separate corner. And there’s a book on sexuality open on her dresser. I close my eyes and shut it because it would crush me to know who she thinks about when she looks at it.

I wander to her main dresser and check out her clear jars filled with sea glass. She’s been crazy about that stuff since third grade when we took a family trip to Florida. She spent the whole vacation scouring the beach just to find more. I spent the whole vacation crying about not going to Disney World and throwing up in the car.

She thought that glass was treasure and she held it in her palm. I remember her fist opening up and her handing me a warm stone. She had blue, clear and green pieces, and Tía Betty secured them in a jar. Belén searched the beach for a red one until the sun went down. When we got back to the hotel she had to take aspirin for both a headache and a sunburn.

The next morning we ate Fruit Loops at the hotel’s Continental buffet. I asked her why she needed a red one, and she sort of rolled her eyes at me but then smiled.

“Luciano, the red ones are the best ones because they’re the hardest to find. When you get one it means you’re special.”

“But did somebody already pick up all of them and that’s why they’re gone?”

“No. They’re gone because they don’t make red glass anymore. Did you ever have soda in a red bottle?”

I shook my head and listened to every word she said. She was always way too fucking smart, even as a tiny kid. It was like she made up for her size with the brainiac stuff. Belén could never love me. I’m not even in her league. I’m dumb. I act ghetto. Alls I got going for me is strength and enough common sense not to stay in this neighborhood and let it fuck my life up.

The smallest jar on her dresser is one that was probably used for baby food. It holds a few red pieces of polished sea glass and sits like a shrine in the middle of all the blue-green stuff.

I check my laundry and it’s still got fifteen minutes left. Let me get the hell out of her room before one of them comes home. I sit on the couch and flip channels, help myself to the chocolate-covered nuts on the table.

Belén walks in and looks startled to see me. She hangs up her coat and throws her keys on the table. Her hair is down and she looks tired but she’s so fucking pretty. It’s a pretty that’s painful because it’s not mine to touch, not even mine to look at.

“Feeling better?” she asks as I hear her rummage through the fridge.

That’s just like her, make it all nice and accidental, like I didn’t take two hits of meth out of a pipe in the men’s bathroom. I’m not even really into that shit. But sometimes you got to buck up and take one for the image. I can pass it off sometimes and still maintain my ground, but today that wasn’t happening so I had to take a couple hits to convince them.

“Are you going to Jeremy’s graduation party this weekend?” Belén asks me all casually as she pops the top on a can of soda.