It is my first kiss.
I want to cry. I want to sink into the ground and disappear. I want to be the nothing that I thought I was. His mouth is everywhere, his hands are everywhere, suffocating me, and I cannot breathe and I want to go home, but there is no home. I want Annie.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” he says, taking my hand in his and pulling me through the crowds. It is wrong, and I have counted the men with him and there are too many, and if James does not like him, then he must be a truly horrible person.
We walk out of the club into the dark night and the air is sharp with a humid, cold bite. I shiver and Rafael turns, wraps his arms around me, puts his mouth to mine again, pushes me up against the wall of the building. He is all tongue and hands and he disgusts me, but I disgust me, too.
Too wrong. I don’t want this. I push him back, off me. “I’m going inside,” I say.
“Come on, baby.” He tries to come in close and I push him again. “Don’t be like that.” His voice isn’t sweet like honey anymore. It is low and dark like tar. “Let’s have some fun. We’ll go to my boat and have some fun. And then we’ll talk about my friend James.”
“Thanks but no.” I try to walk past, but the men with him (five and they move quickly and, unlike Rafael, they have muscles for a reason other than looking pretty, and I have no weapons) close the gaps, blocking me in.
“You are one of them. One of his girls. I’ve heard the rumors. And James has unfinished business with me. He’s very bad at keeping promises, but maybe his girl is better.” He has me back against the wall; he traces one of his fingers down my neck, down, down, down.
I knee him in the groin. “I’m nobody’s girl.”
He calls me a nasty name, and that annoys me because he has no right, and then one of the men grabs for my hair (I should have put it up). I duck, get low, kick at knees and elbow at noses. I want a knife. I have two down, three left, and now they are careful, wary. I have shown my hand.
I laugh. This is fun. This is what I wanted all along, I realize. This is better than the dancing. This is getting lost while doing something. I duck a rush, push the man so he careens forward and his head connects with the wall with a dull thud.
Someone grabs me around the waist and I slam my head back into his nose, hear it crack. He lets me go and I drop to the ground, sweep the feet of the only man left, propel myself to standing, and kick him in the face.
Rafael pushes himself up against the wall, and he does not think I’m beautiful anymore.
“You’re crazy,” he hisses.
“Too true.”
“Fia!”
I turn and there is James, and he’s furious. I’ve never seen him so angry. “What are you doing?”
“I was dancing.” I shrug.
“James, you owe—” Rafael starts, but James hits him in the stomach so hard Rafael collapses.
“We’re done here,” James says to him.
I walk past them down the dark, empty street. I think I’ll walk back to our house. It’s only a few miles and I like the night air.
James grabs my arm and I know I don’t have to elbow or kick, but I know where I need to if I want to. Want and need. Such a fine difference.
“What were you thinking?” he shouts.
“I wanted someone to dance with. He was a great dancer. Terrible kisser, though. And an even worse fighter.”
“Fia!” He yanks my arm so hard I twist to face him. “You can’t just—you have no idea who he is! He’s dangerous—he could have hurt you. You of all people should have known that! Why would you take that risk?”
I glare at his face, his face that I have wanted for so long. “Sometimes I pick things that aren’t good for me.”
“What if something had happened?”
“I’m sure Eden would have comforted you.”
His face freezes, then falls. “It’s not like that. She—I have to keep her happy. That’s all it is. I don’t feel anything for her. The feelings she picks up off me aren’t for her. Never for her. Let me explain.”
“No, let me explain. You’re right. I did know better than to go with Rafael. But I knew better about you, too. From the moment we met, you were wrong. You were always wrong. And I ignored it, and I pretended it wasn’t true. I’d like to go back to Chicago now. You don’t have to manipulate me, pretend to care, pretend to be my friend to get me to do what you want; I don’t have any other choices. But I’m done playing make-believe.”
He looks hurt. He looks like he wants to say something. He is a liar, liar, liar.