Touching Melody

19

Maddie

Trust Your Roomie





I’m giddy. Like a schoolgirl, giddy. I can’t hold still. Gina is working on my hair. She’s burned her finger on the iron twice. After the third time, she bonks me on the head with it.

“I swear I’m going to shove this up your nose if you don’t freakin' hold still.” She sticks the curling iron in my face and scowls.

“Ouch. Fine. No need for violence.”

“You haven’t seen me violent.” She’s glaring, but the fact that her lips are twitching with near-laughter negates all the pretend anger in her eyes.

“Okay. Okay.” I pull my fingers from the ties in the waist of my sweatpants and hold them up in surrender.

“Good.” She grabs another chunk of hair and twirls it in the iron. “What are you going to wear?”

I shrug. “Jeans, my purple tee, and black ballet flats.”

She yanks on my hair. “Boring. Awful. And grotesque.”

I want to be offended, but I can’t. I’m too excited. And nervous. And terrified. Thrilled. And shocked. And full of trepidation. My internal thoughts are quick, like my mind is playing at fast-forward.

Will he kiss me again? I hope so.

No, he can’t. I shouldn’t be going. Kyle is the son of the man who killed my parents.

He doesn’t know. He isn’t like his father. He’s kind, and good, and tender, and his lips are extraordinary.

“I’ve got the perfect outfit in mind. Trust your roomie,” Gina says, interrupting my thoughts.

I glance at her. “Not too wild though.”

“Psssshhhh. Don’t question me. I know what I’m doing.” Gina picks up her comb and tousles my curls. Sets it down and picks up her purse. “I’m going to run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” At the door, she stops. “Don’t mess with your hair.”

“I won’t.” I pick up my Sudoku, but can’t focus. Every time I try, all I see is Kyle’s face and I feel the way his body pressed into mine. My thighs tingle at the thought. The butterflies low in my belly stop fluttering and sway languidly, dancing to some Nina Simone song and smoking a cigarette.

Gina comes back in with animated energy. Sniffling, she sets her purse on her bed. “Alright, let’s get you an outfit.” She goes to her closet. “Do you want your outfit to say, ‘I’m sweet and innocent?'” She pulls a white sundress from her closet.

I shake my head.

“This is disgusting. I don’t even know where it came from.” She tosses it on the floor. “What about, ‘wine me, dine me, boink me?’” She pulls out a black halter dress. It Vs down to the waist and would barely cover my ass.

“How about something in between? Something that says, ‘I like you, but I’m not ready to do it. Yet.’” I move to stand beside her. “Got anything in your closet that says that?”

She huffs. “Probably.” She practically dives in. Clothes are flying everywhere. Skirts. Shirts. Leggings. Dresses.

“Gina. Seriously. I can wear my jeans. You don’t need to go to all this trouble. It's just dinner.” I fall onto her bed, knocking her purse to the floor. The contents spill out. A tampon. Some folded cash. Change. Her student ID. Lip-gloss. And a small baggie more than half filled with white powder. I pick it up just as Gina is turning around, a victorious look on her face. Until she sees what I’m holding. Her face falls, and she drops the clothes. “What is this?”

I’m sure I know. My aunt and uncle made me watch videos about drugs.

She grabs it out of my hand. “How dare you go through my things?”

“I didn’t. I swear. Your purse fell off the bed.” Gina is on her knees, picking up the stuff that’s spilled everywhere. I kneel next her and place a hand over her clenched fist. The one holding the drugs. “Want to talk about it? No judgments.”

She glances up. Her eyes are watery. She sniffles. And I cringe. The monotone voice of the guy on the video plays through my mind:

Side effects of cocaine are stuffy nose, excitability, irritability…

“There’s nothing to talk about. I like it. I like the way it makes me feel.” She stands, opens her hand. “Want a hit?”

I shake my head and move over to my bed. “No thanks.”

She shrugs. “You won’t say anything?”

Warning bells ring in my head. Should I say something? What if the campus police find out she has it in our dorm room? Will I get in trouble too? How much is she using? Could she die?

Even as the questions pummel my mind, I know I won’t say anything. “No, of course not. I just want you to be okay. You can tell me anything.”

Gina sits next to me. “It’s just to help me feel more confident, less like an ugly nobody.” She sniffles. “And college is hard. It takes more than coffee to keep me up and alert.”

I get what she’s saying. I know what it’s like to need something to cover up pain. Do something to make the fears, the hurt stop. Music and a yearly tattoo have been enough for me. Now that I’ve tried alcohol, its numbing goodness, I don’t want to give that up either. So I nod encouragingly. “It’ll stay between you and me.” I reach out and grab her hand. “But please be careful. And you most definitely are not ugly.”

She smiles. “I will. Thanks.” Her words aren’t convincing. I think of the past two weekends and the way she’s come back to the room crying after having done things she didn’t want to. I realize the word careful probably isn’t in her vocabulary.

But I pretend like I’m fine with what she’s doing and say, “Good.”

Gina stuffs the baggie in her front jeans pocket and picks up the clothes she dropped. “Put these on. Kinky Kyle is going to be here soon. Do you have a black bra?”

I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. For some reason it upsets me that she keeps calling Kyle kinky. I’m not exactly sure what the word means related to sex, but the way she says it makes me think it’s negative.

“So, no.” She laughs, moving back to her closet. She pulls a spaghetti strap tank with a shelf bra out and tosses it at me. “Wear this.”

I slide out of my sweatpants and shirt. Turn away from Gina and take off my bra. Then I reach back. “Tank, please.” Gina plops it in my hand. I slide it over my head. “Skirt.” She places it in my hand. I shimmy it on. It’s black, super tight. Hugs my body in all the right places. “Top.” It’s a see through coral blouse. Very feminine and pretty. I glance at myself in the oval mirror Gina bought the other day. “This is beautiful.” I turn back and forth, admiring my reflection.

“Of course it is.” Gina digs through her dozens of shoeboxes and brings back a pair of black heels. They are high and look seriously hazardous. “Put these on. They say sex, but with subtlety." I slide them on. “Beautiful. You’ve got great legs.”

“Thanks, Gina.” I sit on my bed and start applying lotion.

“Yeah, nothing like dry knees to ruin a good outfit.” Gina sits next to me.

“I’m handling it.”

She lays back. “What about the V situation? How do you intend to handle that?”

I finish with the lotion and rub my hands together. Then lay back next to her. “I’m going to take it slow.” My face heats at the memory of Kyle teaching me how to kiss. I want to do a lot more of that. Kissing. Kissing. Kissing.

“What are you thinking?” Gina turns on her side and leans on an arm.

I cover my eyes. “Kissing Kyle,” I admit.

“What was it like?”

I’m surprised she doesn’t think my first kiss is trivial. Silly. She’s kissed guys, and done a lot more. I move my hands and face her. “It was a little embarrassing,” I tell her truthfully.

“Why?” She’s scrutinizing my face.

I close my eyes. “Because I didn’t know what I was doing. But he was sweet. He showed me.”

“Showed you?” She leans in closer. “What do you mean?”

“Purse your lips and tighten them, like you have to kiss a dog.”

“Ugh, I’ve done that plenty of times.” She gives a harsh laugh, and then does it.

I press a finger to her bottom lip and massage it the way he did. “Relax.” Her lips part, and her already dilated eyes get wider. I shrug. “Then he kissed me.”

“Like this.” She reaches over and presses a kiss to my lips.

I lean back. “Yeah, kinda.” I sit up. “Why did you do that?”

“Hey, chill. I’m not trying to hit on you.” I search her face, reading her serious expression. “I’ll admit you look hot. That outfit looks much better on you than me.” Gina laughs nervously. “It’s just,” she wrings her hands together. “I’ve never kissed someone when I was sober. I wanted to see what it was like.”

I sit back down. “Really?”

She sighs, rolling away. “Never mind. Sorry. I’m always doing shit before I think it through.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I want to reach out and hug her. Tell her how grateful I am for her. Tell her I consider her the sister I always wished I had. But I don’t. “We need to find you a sober boyfriend,” I say lightly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She shrugs my hand off.

“I don’t need any favors.” She pushes off my bed and pulls on her combat boots. Without looking back, she grabs her purse and says, “Have fun on your date.” Then she’s gone.