My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 47: Boundaries

"Paul said you can come to a party he's throwing at our house this Saturday," I told Gally as we lay on a towel at the edge of Satan's Mirror, soaking up the afternoon sun. If you want, that is."

"That sounds cool." He trailed his hand up my leg, voice flat. "Do you still like me?"

I propped myself up on my elbows, lowering my cat-eye sunglasses. "Excuse me?"

"For the past couple of weeks, it seems like you barely tolerate my presence. We go out, we hold hands, we..." He scratched the back of his head, and I had to resist rolling my eyes at his reluctance to say the word 'sex'. "But it seems as though you don't enjoy it, that you don't enjoy me."

I didn't know what to say; his words rang true. He was a good-looking, sweet, well-mannered boy, and at times I caught myself finding him attractive, but mostly I thought of him as someone I'd recommend to a friend as good boyfriend material. I'd considered breaking things off, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. At first, I thought maybe it was because I wanted to keep attention off Thelma and me, but now that that had fallen through, I still stayed with him. The only reason I could think of was that he'd done nothing wrong and it didn't seem right to break up a relationship simply because I didn't like him anymore.

Instead of saying any of that, I kissed him gently on the lips, laying my hand on his bare, freckled chest. "I'm sorry I've neglected you."

"Don't patronize me. I don't need constant attention, I just want to be with you." His voice sounded calm and gentle, not at all matching his words. He wanted to be angry, but he couldn't muster the energy. 

I laid back, unbuttoning my uniform shirt, letting his trace his fingers over my chest, slide the strap of my bra off my shoulder, kiss my neck. It felt like Mick's touch- that is to say, nothing, nothing compared to Keith's or Thelma's or- 

"What are these?" He touched the faded, silvery lines on my stomach. "I've never noticed them before."

"Stretch marks."

"From what?"

I shrugged, touching the faint scars, noting how much more prominent they looked in the bright sunlight. "Gaining weight, probably."

"But you're so skinny."

"Well, I guess I used to be skinner," I said with a laugh. "I have them on my legs too." I rotated my hip and lifted my skirt so he could see the pinkish grooves on my inner thigh. 

"We should probably get going," he said abruptly, standing up.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked, standing anxiously. With my shirt off and skirt high enough to show my underwear, I thought for sure he'd want to sleep with me, but instead he wanted to leave.

"Sorry, love, but my mum needs me home by seven." Gally pulled his shoes on, and I did the same while avoiding his eyes, embarrassed. I suppose my flat chest and stretch marks weren't enough to get him in the mood. "Tell Paul that I'll be at that party; I can't wait to meet your stepparents properly."

At home, Paul was lying on the couch, bouncy baby Mary on his belly while she giggled, tugging on his beard, Elvis playing on the radio.

"I can't believe they still play this crap," I said, dropping my bags on the floor.

"Hey, don't disrespect the King!" Paul snapped playfully.

"The King of what?" 

"Of everything! Of rock and roll." 

I rolled my eyes, checking what station the dial was on. "This is an old dude station, that's why they're playing Elvis."

"Who are you calling old?" Paul set Mary on the cushion beside him, standing up just as 'Jailhouse Rock' came to an end. "The problem is, you don't have any musical appreciation, teenagers don't know how to listen to music anymore."

"Then teach me."

He raised an eyebrow at my tone, which I realized sounded quite flirty. I took a step back, ensuring there was a good foot between our chests, in an attempt to keep things platonic. Mary watched us from her seat, her tiny fingers playing with each other as her eyes went from her father to her sister, mouth ajar and drooling. The way Paul looked at me made my blood boil. His daughter might be too young to know how a man looked at a woman when he wanted to fuck her, but he was a scumbag for staring at me so hungrily in front of her either way.

"Poetry is meant to be read aloud, not in your head. Music is meant to be listened to with your body, not your ears." He reached down to take my hand. "Dance with me?"

Despite my brain screaming at me to say no, to walk away, go to my room, I nodded. He led me to the center of the room so we wouldn't bump into the upright piano of the couch or the radio, which, after a bit of chat from the jockeys, played 'Love Me Tender'.

"Do they seriously only play Elvis?" I asked, using irritation to mask my shame at having to dance to this intimate love song with him, but my flushed cheeks probably gave it away.

"It's an hour of Elvis, every day at six." He mimicked the jockey's unnatural way of speaking, making me giggle. "You don't like this song?"

"Not really."

Paul gasped with disbelief, pulling me closer to him. "You must not be listening to it properly- try this." He grabbed me by lower back, clutching my forearm tightly with his free hand, dipping me low before swinging me back up. Far from making me like Elvis more, it knocked the air out of lungs and made my stomach fly into my throat. Mary, however, seemed to love it, clapping and giggling ecstatically. "You like that, sweetheart?" he asked, kissing her on the head.

She nodded rapidly. "Again!"

He reached for me, but I place a hand on his chest, keeping him at arm's length. "I'm still dizzy, give me a moment."

"Of course. I'd never want to make you do something you don't want to do."

I'm sure Paul wanted his words to comfort me, bring me back to his side, but instead, they reminded me of all the times he stepped over my boundaries, made me feel uncomfortable and unsafe. I couldn't forget how he treated my relationship with Keith, the way he came into my room and demanded sex, or what he did to Thelma. He tried to assualt her; he didn't respect any woman's boundaries.

Not wanting to make a scene in from of Mary, I let him hold me again. "Not so low this time, it makes my head spin."

"Alright," he said, dipping me to half the height of the last dip, slower, keeping his face close to mine. "But, just so you know, the whole point of dancing is to make your head spin." 

He lifted me to my feet, my face hot enough to cook an egg on. Mary applauded, rocking back and forth excitedly, but Paul didn't kiss her again, staring at me instead. Behind the sparkle in those hazel eyes, I could see smugness. He knew he could get to me, and he relished in it.

"I need to go," I said. "I have homework."

I turned for the stairs when Paul called out, "Wait, Lo." He held out my rucksack to me. "You forgot this."

"Thank you," I whispered, taking my bag before sprinting up to my room.