Falling Harder (13 page)

Just as I’m
about to call it and try yet another store, something catches my eye in the
glass case beneath the cash register. A tray of tiny golden charms sits there,
all but forgotten among the other, flashier costume jewelry. I peer into the
case, scanning the collection. There are horseshoes, stars—all the lucky charms
in the world. But finally, I see it, the thing I’ve been looking for.

It’s charm in
the shape of a rolled-up map, nestled among the hearts and rainbows. I think of
Nadia’s favorite necklace, the one she’s worn every day since I’ve known her.
The little compass she wears over her heart could use a companion, I think.

“Excuse me,” I
say to the bored-looking clerk, “I know this might be a stretch, but...do you
guys gift wrap?”

Fourteen

Nadia

Trace's Gift

“Are you kidding
me?!” Conway squeals, clutching my hands in hers. We’re huddled together in the
kitchen, away from Garrick’s perked-up ears.

“Nope,” I tell
her, breathless. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

“For finally
taking care of that pesky virginity thing?” Conway laughs, “No, of course not.
I’m just...weirdly glad for you guys, I guess. I mean, you found each other in
the middle of all this. Do you know what that means? Anything you have to stare
down from here on out is going to be a freaking cake walk.”

I avert my eyes
bashfully. In truth, I’ve had that same thought too many times to count. I’d be
lying through my teeth if I said that I’m not constantly fantasizing about my
future with Trace. And though I try and wiggle out of admitting it, Conway’s
not going to let me off easy. She stares into my face, all but vibrating with
glee.

“I’m not telling
you anything you don’t already know, am I?” she says, “Oh my god. I can’t. You
guys are too fucking cute. Can I come to the wedding? Can I plan the wedding?
Who’s going to do your makeup? I have some really awesome ideas about—”

“One thing at a
time,” I laugh, pulling my foster sister into my arms, “But, just to get our
bases covered, how does maid of honor sound?”

“Are you trying
to make me cry?” she asks, “This isn’t waterproof mascara, you know. Give a
girl some warning.”

“Con,” I say,
leaning back against the kitchen counter, “Do you think...Do you think that
we’ve got a shot, Trace and me?”

“Why would you
ask me that?” she says incredulously.

“We’re just not
the most stable people in the world,” I say, “We’ve each got a covered wagon of
baggage all our own. Do you think that two people are screwed-up as we are can
be happy? Together?”

Conway places
her hands on my shoulders, looking earnestly into my face. “Listen,” she says,
“If any two people on the planet have a shot at being happy, it’s you two. And
not despite your baggage, either. You understand each other, on the most basic
level imaginable. That doesn’t happen every day, you know? Not even to normal,
not-as-fucked-up people.

And by the way,
you’re not that fucked up, Nadia. Trust me. I know fucked up. You’ve been drop
kicked by life a couple of times, but you're not weaker for it. You’re strong
as shit. And you know what? You and Trace are only going to make each other
stronger. Because that’s what love does, when it’s real.”

“I do love him,
Conway,” I tell her, my voice quiet. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.

“I know,” she
smiles, “That’s why you shouldn’t have any doubts about tonight. It’s not
losing, you know. Not when it’s right. When it’s right, you’re giving
something, not giving something up.”

“You’re pretty
smart, you know that?” I say.

“Sure,” Conway
shrugs, “This ditzy blonde thing is just a cover so no one comes looking for my
underground lab.” She gives me another bone-crushing hug and scurries back
toward the basement door. “I’m gonna go help Garrick before he electrocutes
himself on the Christmas lights or something.”

I laugh, turning
back to the cupboard. I’ve decided to get a crack on making cookies—though
there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of ingredients, here. A few dusty jars
of spices and a mousetrap are the only things I see. Determined in my baking
quest, I turn to check the rest of the cabinets.

“What are you
looking for, sweetheart?”

I stop dead in
my tracks and lift my gaze to the threshold of the kitchen. Paul leans heavily
against the doorframe, his bulky body swaying slightly even in stillness. Even
though he’s across the room, I can smell the vodka in his sweat. His eyes
struggle to stay focused on the fixed point of my face as he grins at me
sloppily.

“I didn’t hear
you come in,” I say, forcing my voice to remain even. Cold fear mixes in with
my blood, courses through my veins like ice. I’ve always been intimidated by
Paul, but tonight he seems changed. Dangerous.

“Guess I’m just
slick like that,” he slurs, taking a step forward. He steadies himself against
the counter, his entire mass likely to topple at any moment.

Forcing deep
breaths into my lungs, I race through my options. I can rush past him to the
basement, but he’d probably just put himself in my path. There’s no back door,
no window, no other way to get myself out of this kitchen. I could scream for
Conway and Garrick, but Paul would probably just get angry if I did...and
besides, I’m having trouble raising my voice louder than a whisper.

It’s OK, I tell
myself, he’s not going to hurt you. You’re safe, you’re safe...

“Funny
conversation you girls were having,” Paul says, his face hardening.

“What?”

“I overheard you
chirping away in here. Could have sworn you were talking about you and little
lover boy finally getting down to business.”

“That’s none of
your business, Paul,” I say firmly. I can feel a hot blush creeping up my neck
as my foster dad lets out a lewd cackle.

“That answers
that, doesn’t it?” he says meanly. “I thought I told you two once before. I
don’t want any of that happening in my house.”

“Fine,
whatever,” I say, wanting to defuse the situation as quickly as possible.

“I can’t really
blame him though, for wanting to hit that sweet ass of yours,” Paul says, his
eyes raking up and down my body. “Ever since you figured out how to dress like
a girl, I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you myself.”

I open my mouth
to retaliate, to tell him to go fuck himself, but I can’t force out any words.
I’m too terrified to make a sound. Paul’s lopsided grin widens—it’s like he can
smell my fear clear across the room.

“Between you and
little Connie down there, it’s a fucking buffet in here these days,” the
loathsome man says, “It’s awfully cruel of you two. Flouncing around all day
and night like you do. What’s a red-blooded man like me to do, huh?”

“I...I don’t...”
I whisper.

“That’s right,”
Paul says, “If I heard you correctly, you don’t have the damnedest idea what
any man would do in my position. Is it true, what you said? Are you really
still a virgin?”

“I don’t...want
to talk about this...you with,” I say, my teeth gritted tightly, “I’m just
going to go back downstairs—”

“You’re not
going anywhere,” Paul says. In three quick steps, he’s crossed the kitchen. The
sway is gone from his step as he crowds me into the kitchen counter. I may not
know much about men, but I know what’s burning there in his bloodshot eyes:
it’s pure, rabid lust. Lust that’s burning hot as a fever, evaporating his
drunken stupor.

“Paul...You’re
freaking me out,” I say, searching for an ounce of empathy on his twisted face.
But there’s nothing in his expression but contempt, and wanting, and malice.
The enormity of the situation crashes through my body as the levees of hope
come crashing down. I realize in that moment that I’m trapped. I’m teetering on
a precipice with no way to save myself. I was so close to being happy, just
inches away. And this man is going to drain that happiness away before I even
get to savor a drop.

“You look
scared,” he says. He plants his hands to either side of me on the counter,
caging me in.  “It’s actually kind of hot.”

“You...You’re a
monster,” I whisper. There’s nothing left to lose, no reason to hold back.

“Maybe I am,”
Paul laughs, leaning into me. I grimace as I feel him press against me. The
sickening bulge in his dirty jeans rubs against me, making me gag. “What’s
wrong with you?” he demands, “You squeamish or something? You don’t like me, is
that it? I may not be some pretty boy dip shit like the one you’ve been running
around with, but I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you. I’ll show you
what a real man is like, honey.”

Pinning me
against the counter, Paul runs his meaty hands down the sides of my body. His
foul breath and vile touch eclipse my entire world. He pulls me against him,
moaning as my breasts balloon against his bulky chest. Horrified, I feel my
consciousness flee my body. It’s like I’m looking down from outside of myself,
watching as this disgusting man runs his hands all over me. I too repulsed, too
terrified to think...at least for a moment.

As Paul’s filthy
lips suck greedily on the skin of my neck, my mind roars back into the present.
A low, guttural scream rips through my throat, startling Paul for the briefest
time. I trash against his foul body, punching every part of him that I can
reach. I can hear myself shouting wordlessly as I strike again and again.

The wind is
knocked clear out of me as Paul spins me around and slams me against the
counter. His grimy hand smacks my head hard against the surface as he pushes me
over, and the edges of my vision go dark. The metallic sound of a belt buckle
ripping open echoes around the kitchen. It’s a sound I know I’ll never be able
to scour from my memory. Helpless and hurt, I bite down and brace myself for
what’s next.

I slump heavily
against the counter as the crushing weight of Paul’s body is lifted away.
Confused, I spin around just in time to see Trace’s fist collide with Paul’s
bloated, blotchy face. Our foster father’s head whips to the side, but Trace
slams him again. He lands blow after blow, sending fine sprays of blood into
the fluorescent lit air. The look in Trace’s eyes is unlike anything I’ve seen
before. Cold, unshakeable wrath has hold of his entire body, and I know at once
that nothing in the world can stop him.

Something shiny
flashes in Paul’s hand. My mouth falls open dumbly as I see the kitchen knife
he’s snatched up in the fray. Paul swings the blade at Trace’s chest, and the
entire world seems to move in slow motion. Trace spots the knife as it barrels
toward him, and jumps out of the way just in time. Paul lurches forward, off
balance, and Trace seizes his wrist. A howl of pain tears out of Paul’s body as
Trace twists his arm up behind his back, forcing the knife to clatter onto the
floor.

The basement
door flies open, and Garrick appears. He takes one look at the fight unfolding
and launches into action. He tries to place himself between Paul and Trace as
Conway peers fearfully around the corner.

“Get out of
here!” Trace bellows, shoving Garrick away.

“Just chill
out!” Garrick screams, holding up his hands, “Take a second and—”

“You piece of
shit,” Paul sputters, his mouth full of blood, “You worthless little fucker.
Who do you think you are, coming after me?”

“I’m the guy
who’s going to rip your fucking throat out,” Trace growls.

“You’re a
lunatic,” Paul says, “Just like your filthy junkie parents. Rot in hell, kid.”

“Fuck you,” Trace
says, and flies at Paul once again.

Garrick backs
away as Trace’s fury grows. Conway tugs Garrick away from the brawl, and he
wraps her up in his arms, shielding her eyes. Paul is losing steam, and fast. I
feel my knees buckle beneath me and I slide down onto the dirty linoleum. My
teeth chatter uncontrollably as I struggle to make sense of what’s going on
before me. The room is eerily quiet as we all submit to the inevitable.

Paul tries
feebly to fight back, but he’s no match for Trace. The older man doubles over,
giving in to the beating for lack of strength. Blood is pouring out of his nose
and mouth, and his eyes roll wildly in his skull. Paul sinks to his knees, and
Trace pounces—bringing Paul’s chin slamming down against the kitchen floor.
Paul’s head snaps back, and a sickening crunch rings through the room.

With a strangled
sigh unlike anything I’ve ever heard, Paul slumps down onto the floor at
Trace’s feet. The ceaseless motion of Trace’s powerful body finally slows.
Everyone in the room holds their breath for a moment that lasts
forever—everyone except Paul.

Garrick breaks
the stillness, slowly crossing to room toward the spot where our foster father
lays motionless. Gingerly, he kneels on the tile and bringing his ear close to
Paul’s face. He pauses, straining to hear something, feel something...but the
grim look that comes over his face says it all. Garrick looks up at Trace and
slowly, solemnly shakes his head.

“Is he OK?”
Conway asks, her voice fearful.

“What do you
want to do, Trace?” Garrick asks.

“Do about what?”
Conway pleads, rushing into the kitchen, “What’s going on? Trace...what the
fuck—?”

“Come on, Con,”
Garrick says, grabbing onto Conway’s hand, “You don’t want to—”

“Oh my god...”
she breathes, staring down at Paul, “Is he...is he...?”

“It’s over,”
Garrick says, “He’s gone.”

Baffled tears
stream down Conway’s cheeks as Garrick all but carries her out of the room.
“But why...? I don’t understand. What’s going to happen to us now? What’s going
to happen to us, Garrick?”

I can’t tear my
eyes from Paul’s crumpled form. His half-open eyes stare blankly at the
ceiling, his mouth hangs slack. A powerful wave of nausea turns my stomach, and
I scramble desperately to the sink. I retch again and again, until there’s
nothing left inside of me. I feel Trace’s strong hands holding me up...the same
hands that just battered the life from another human being. Weak and dizzy, I
turn finally to face him.