[debut]
I know it sounds cliché and all, and I swear I don't mean it in some weird Sapphic way - I mean, I love Rhi even now and we've been close, but not, you know, that close - but I'm pretty sure that, when I look up and see her staring back at me, my heart stops. Like, actually stops, and the blood in my veins just goes cold. Not literally, I mean, that's not a thing that… happens or that you recover from, but the point is, it's chilling. I don't know why I agreed to go out with Anson to begin with, knowing what I do about how Rhi feels about him, and I could kick myself for letting her see. It's weird, how shitty you can feel for being a bad friend to someone when you're not entirely friends anymore, but… this is Rhi. I mean, she's my best friend. Even when she's a total bitch and I hate her, I still love her, you know? But it was so nice to think a guy wanted me for… well, for me and not the fictional play a gift card to Office Max could get him, I guess I didn't stop to care who that guy was.
"I'm sorry about that." The road outside the Lobster Shack is slick with rain under her heels, but Olive remains steady on her feet as they head for Anson's car. He doesn't seem too fazed by being made to run off just as their entrées were served, at least. Confused, yes, but not fazed, and she can count that in his favor even if she's pretty sure he's the kind of guy who thought it was spelled with a 'ph' like he's just slipped through a wall from one room to the next.
She has the passenger side door partway open before he lays his hand on it, presses it closed again. "Uh, I've got something for you," he says. It's not all what she expects to hear, caught up in worrying about Rhi as she is, and she can't quite meet his eyes, delighted and not wanting to show it (she's supposed to play it cool, right? It's less embarrassing, anyway, if she plays it cool). And then, raising his hand with a little flick of the card he holds just before her eyes, any hopes he might have raised in her are dashed before she even knows what they were. "Two hundred dollars to the Home Depot."
I guess I should have seen that coming, too.
It hits so much harder than she would have expected, tears welling up in her eyes before she's even fully processed what he's saying. She bites her lip hard to keep them at bay, throat going tight. Of course he didn't really like her. It doesn't matter, all of a sudden, that he was just the guy she picked because he picked her or that Rhi's been in love with him for years so he's off-limits anyway, it hurts. Why she thought he actually liked her, she suddenly isn't sure. She's just a means to an end, a way to make him look a little cooler when he comes on to other girls, girls he actually wants to date, not just pretend he screwed.
"Bam," he says, pleased with himself.
"I didn't realize this was a -"
"I know it sounds kind of lame, but uh, they really do have some awesome stuff." Olive takes the card from him, twists the thin plastic between her fingers as he talks and she regains her composure. "I bought my air compressor there."
"So what did we do on this date?" It's done. It's over, the illusion is shattered, so it might as well be business as usual - except that it isn't.
"Whatever two hundred bucks gets me," he says, and the dread strikes through her fast, something sinking cold and leaden in the pit of her stomach as he tucks his fingers under her chin and kisses her.
Pushing him away, quick but careful, Olive shakes her head. "That's not really how it works."
"That's okay."
It's not, not at all, but he's on her again before she can protest again, pulling her closer. She's been kissed before, but very rarely and not like this, never some snake of a guy touching her, claiming her like a reward for his ability to pick up a gift card at a home improvement store. Good for you, buddy, you can use a debit card, take whatever you want. She's been called a whore, she's been attacked as one, but she's never actually been treated like one quite this viscerally. She shoves him this time, forces him to take a few ungainly steps backward. "Stop," she snaps, "I'm not really having sex with people for money. I'm saying I'm having sex with people for money, but I'm not having sex with people for money -"
"It's okay, it's alright," he says. The softness in his tone makes her sick to the point she thinks she might actually throw up on him for a moment. She wishes she would. "Come on."
This time, she doesn't let him get close enough to kiss her again, pushing hard. "Stop! No, no -"
"What?"
"Stop."
He looks at her like she's some skittish animal, like she isn't there, a body to be coaxed into submission as he presses closer, and she knows, with a flash of anger and horror, that he doesn't hear anything she's saying. "Come on," he says, "just relax. Come on, babe, it's alright."
God, his hands are everywhere and her arm is at his throat, shoving him away again, ready to claw him if he gets close one more time. "God," she huffs out. "Asshole." She manages to get past him this time, like it took that one word for him to hear her. Maybe next time she'll open with that.
She really hopes there's no next time. Once is bad enough. Her heels clack hard against the wet pavement and then he says it, then he really makes her night. "What are you doing?" he asks. "I paid you."
Whirling on her heel, she stares at him, not sure she heard that right. They're seventeen, for god's sake, she's known him since they were in kindergarten. Maybe they were never close, maybe she just wasn't paying enough attention to realize what a dick he is, but those words can't be taken back. I paid you. Payment rendered, she's the goods he's supposed to get in exchange, and she's supposed to be okay with that? She throws the card at him hard before stalking away again. "Now you didn't."
"Come on, this is bullshit!"
Yeah, well, at least there’s one thing we agree on.
He doesn't follow her, though, and the wave of relief that comes from that sets her off. She's been too disgusted to be afraid, but it strikes her now, how close she was to being in serious danger, how close she still might be, how unspeakably dirty she feels, like his hands are still on her, like she'll never get him to let go. It was one thing to let everyone think she's a whore, but somehow she never fully realized people believed it. That unwanted revelation is what brings the tears back to her eyes, pricking hot and sharp behind them as she starts sniffling, digging for her phone in her purse, but it's the way the concrete shifts under her feet, ankle giving way as those five-inch heels meet unexpected sand, that sends her tumbling to her knees. The whole sudden hallucination thing doesn't seem to matter as much as the idea that it's the last thing she needs, one more horrific turn of events to an already painful night. As her phone, brush and other odds and ends tumble free of the bag, scattering on the dimly lit beach, Olive just starts crying harder, not sure she knows how to stop.
"I'm sorry about that." The road outside the Lobster Shack is slick with rain under her heels, but Olive remains steady on her feet as they head for Anson's car. He doesn't seem too fazed by being made to run off just as their entrées were served, at least. Confused, yes, but not fazed, and she can count that in his favor even if she's pretty sure he's the kind of guy who thought it was spelled with a 'ph' like he's just slipped through a wall from one room to the next.
She has the passenger side door partway open before he lays his hand on it, presses it closed again. "Uh, I've got something for you," he says. It's not all what she expects to hear, caught up in worrying about Rhi as she is, and she can't quite meet his eyes, delighted and not wanting to show it (she's supposed to play it cool, right? It's less embarrassing, anyway, if she plays it cool). And then, raising his hand with a little flick of the card he holds just before her eyes, any hopes he might have raised in her are dashed before she even knows what they were. "Two hundred dollars to the Home Depot."
I guess I should have seen that coming, too.
It hits so much harder than she would have expected, tears welling up in her eyes before she's even fully processed what he's saying. She bites her lip hard to keep them at bay, throat going tight. Of course he didn't really like her. It doesn't matter, all of a sudden, that he was just the guy she picked because he picked her or that Rhi's been in love with him for years so he's off-limits anyway, it hurts. Why she thought he actually liked her, she suddenly isn't sure. She's just a means to an end, a way to make him look a little cooler when he comes on to other girls, girls he actually wants to date, not just pretend he screwed.
"Bam," he says, pleased with himself.
"I didn't realize this was a -"
"I know it sounds kind of lame, but uh, they really do have some awesome stuff." Olive takes the card from him, twists the thin plastic between her fingers as he talks and she regains her composure. "I bought my air compressor there."
"So what did we do on this date?" It's done. It's over, the illusion is shattered, so it might as well be business as usual - except that it isn't.
"Whatever two hundred bucks gets me," he says, and the dread strikes through her fast, something sinking cold and leaden in the pit of her stomach as he tucks his fingers under her chin and kisses her.
Pushing him away, quick but careful, Olive shakes her head. "That's not really how it works."
"That's okay."
It's not, not at all, but he's on her again before she can protest again, pulling her closer. She's been kissed before, but very rarely and not like this, never some snake of a guy touching her, claiming her like a reward for his ability to pick up a gift card at a home improvement store. Good for you, buddy, you can use a debit card, take whatever you want. She's been called a whore, she's been attacked as one, but she's never actually been treated like one quite this viscerally. She shoves him this time, forces him to take a few ungainly steps backward. "Stop," she snaps, "I'm not really having sex with people for money. I'm saying I'm having sex with people for money, but I'm not having sex with people for money -"
"It's okay, it's alright," he says. The softness in his tone makes her sick to the point she thinks she might actually throw up on him for a moment. She wishes she would. "Come on."
This time, she doesn't let him get close enough to kiss her again, pushing hard. "Stop! No, no -"
"What?"
"Stop."
He looks at her like she's some skittish animal, like she isn't there, a body to be coaxed into submission as he presses closer, and she knows, with a flash of anger and horror, that he doesn't hear anything she's saying. "Come on," he says, "just relax. Come on, babe, it's alright."
God, his hands are everywhere and her arm is at his throat, shoving him away again, ready to claw him if he gets close one more time. "God," she huffs out. "Asshole." She manages to get past him this time, like it took that one word for him to hear her. Maybe next time she'll open with that.
She really hopes there's no next time. Once is bad enough. Her heels clack hard against the wet pavement and then he says it, then he really makes her night. "What are you doing?" he asks. "I paid you."
Whirling on her heel, she stares at him, not sure she heard that right. They're seventeen, for god's sake, she's known him since they were in kindergarten. Maybe they were never close, maybe she just wasn't paying enough attention to realize what a dick he is, but those words can't be taken back. I paid you. Payment rendered, she's the goods he's supposed to get in exchange, and she's supposed to be okay with that? She throws the card at him hard before stalking away again. "Now you didn't."
"Come on, this is bullshit!"
Yeah, well, at least there’s one thing we agree on.
He doesn't follow her, though, and the wave of relief that comes from that sets her off. She's been too disgusted to be afraid, but it strikes her now, how close she was to being in serious danger, how close she still might be, how unspeakably dirty she feels, like his hands are still on her, like she'll never get him to let go. It was one thing to let everyone think she's a whore, but somehow she never fully realized people believed it. That unwanted revelation is what brings the tears back to her eyes, pricking hot and sharp behind them as she starts sniffling, digging for her phone in her purse, but it's the way the concrete shifts under her feet, ankle giving way as those five-inch heels meet unexpected sand, that sends her tumbling to her knees. The whole sudden hallucination thing doesn't seem to matter as much as the idea that it's the last thing she needs, one more horrific turn of events to an already painful night. As her phone, brush and other odds and ends tumble free of the bag, scattering on the dimly lit beach, Olive just starts crying harder, not sure she knows how to stop.