Incense and Peppermints Read online

  Michael and I continued our minor circling. I drank in his clean and oddly enticing scent like an aphrodisiac, and incorrigible butterflies blended with my giddiness. His hands applied pressure, smoothing my sweater over my back, and it felt too good. He drew me closer than I thought possible, and my eyelids fluttered closed.

  “We’re not really dancing you know,” I teased. Opening my eyes, I snared a twinkle of Dee’s glittery top turning the corner. Seeing her, I felt as if somebody hit me with a splash of icy water. I thrust him away. “I need air.”

  Bungling through dozens of moving body parts, I snatched a cup of beer and elbowed the screen door. Not precisely alone, I stepped onto the porch amid kids toking on pipes and whatnot. A bit tipsy, I stumbled. Then, skating my shoes along the concrete driveway, I parked under a streetlamp—enveloped in a pool of light and alone.

  The beer foamed over the brim of my cup, and I knew better than to drink it. At the moment, I was zoned. Another drink and more pot, and I’d be a smashed fledgling.

  Is this what Stevie meant by growing up? Getting wasted didn’t seem to be the right answer. Life was becoming complicated. I watered the grass with my beer.

  I should’ve stuck to the billiard table—my specialty.

  “What’s wrong, Mary.” Michael’s smooth drawl poured into my ears like warm honey, prompting my heart to triple in beats.

  “Are you sick?” He leaned against the light pole and slipped his hands into his jean pockets, hooking his thumbs over the seams.

  Dee had called dibs on Covington. I had to end my attraction to him, or did I?

  “Dee’s beautiful,” I said, and brushed a stray wisp of hair.

  After a pause, he said, “Yup, she is at that.” He scuffed the heel of his boot on the pavement.

  He’d actually admitted it, and I went on. “Dee likes you.”

  “I know that too.” Sounding so sure of himself, he said, “I could say the same thing to you about Jesse.”

  “I know.” My voice was barely audible. What was the attraction to Michael besides his hard body, his gorgeousness, his athleticism, and his southern drawl? Better stop thinking. “I got to go.” Struggling not to look at him, I breezed past.

  I made the short trek of three steps before he snatched my hand. Spinning me around, he clasped both of my arms in a grip that was firm but not hurtful. His callused fingers stroked my cheek, and his breath, smelling like peppermint gum, fanned my face.

  “You want me.” His velvety soft lips brushed from my temple to the edge of my mouth.

  Weak kneed, I melted in anticipation of my first real kiss from Michael. I wanted him to wrap me in his arms.

  Then he said, “To ask Dee out?”

  Dee? It took a second for my pea brain to catalogue his words. Was he playing me? A manipulator. He was so damned beautiful, and he knew it.

  Even before I had a chance to react, shattering glass woke the night. He freed my arms as our heads shot to the origin of the sound.

  “You pecker head,” my brother yelled.

  We fled up the driveway to see Stevie and somebody else fly over the porch steps and thwack the ground. Two bodies tumbled side to side. Intense with knuckled fists, each boy pitted against the other. Stevie’s fingers tangled in the guy’s collar as they lurched to a standing position until an uppercut walloped him on the chin and sent him backwards.

  I identified the opponent as Pete Weiler, and he had at least thirty pounds on my brother.

  “Stop!” Candy’s voice rang out. “Steve, stop!”

  My gaze cut from the fighting boys to a tousled Candy. Her fingers hugged the railing of the porch, and Dee had a supportive arm around her shoulders. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

  “Take that, you shithead.” Pete’s strapping body pinned Stevie, and he ground my brother’s face into the grass.

  “Get off me, you fat prick,” Stevie said in his typical eloquence.

  Michael stepped in, pulling Pete’s arms behind his back and hauling him away from my brother. Stevie jumped to his feet, and Monty circled a thick arm around Stevie’s middle.

  “Steve, we’re done here,” Monty said, drawing him backward.

  “Don’t go near her again, man.” Stevie’s chest heaved.

  His eyes were venomous, reminding me of Dad’s.

  Pete Weiler was getting ready to spit a snide comment, but Michael yanked the guy’s arms, making his spine arch as he grunted. Michael tilted over Pete’s shoulder and said something in a harsh undertone before letting him out of his clutches.

  “I don’t give a fuck who you are.” Pete spun, flaunting his knuckles in Michael’s face. “You’ll get yours, big man.”

  Michael stared him down as Pete and a few others trooped out of Putman’s yard.

  Guys and girls dispersed while rehashing the fight, saying things like, “Too bad it ended so quick,” and “Would’ve been awesome to see Covington throw a few punches.”

  Physically and mentally wiped, I checked my watch to see it was after two in the morning. When I looked up, Michael was gone and Stevie was on the porch soothing Candy.

  What tangled webs we weave.

  CHAPTER 6

  I passed Stevie and Candy canoodling on an outdoor lounge. They were kissing passionately as their bodies twined together. Repressing an eye roll was hard. I had to hand it to Candy, her jealousy scheme had worked seamlessly. It had been a gamble, regardless of my brother getting beat up, and she’d won.

  Yet, how long before a philandering Stevie breaks her heart again?

  When something crackled under my shoes, I stopped in my tracks. Shards of glass, looking like crystalized ice in the weak light, covered the wooden deck. The aluminum screen door was mangled and windowless, which explained the shattering noise.

  Home. I wanted to go home to my bed. Shit, I’m sleeping at Candy’s, how could I forget. I had to round up the girls. The last place I’d seen Gwen was in the basement, so I headed in that direction. After breathing in the crisp autumn night, the house smelled like a nauseating combination of weed, sour beer, and smoke.

  At that hour of the night, in reality it was early morning, the mania should’ve been dwindling. “Bad Moon Rising” vibrated the walls, and I felt as if the song were foreshadowing some terrible event.

  In the kitchen, Colin from my art class hoisted one of the kegs, saying, “This kegs floating. One down. One to go.” Those standing nearby cheered and bellied up to the second keg in an effort to drain it.

  I clunked down the basement stairs to the dark side and had to tiptoe over cuddling figures. Gwen was on the floor, and I nudged her with the toe of my shoe. “Gwen, get up. Let’s go.”

  She moaned and rolled.

  “Come on, Gwen.” Crouching, I shook her shoulders. “Wake up.”

  I heard slurpy giggling. Definitely Dee.

  “Mary?” Her voice greeted me from the murky alcove. “Do you want to go?”

  I swiveled and faced the lighted billiard room, avoiding acclimating my eyes to the darkness because I didn’t want to see Michael with Dee. “Yep, I’m going to get my coat. Will Candy’s mom pick us up?”

  “Steve said he’d drive us home,” Dee said from the darkness “He’s semi-sober, I think.” She giggled again before coyly speaking to whoever she was with. “Wait a minute, will ya?”

  A deep tone snickered. I supposed it was Michael, and all my butterflies died.

  Not wishing to hear more, I traipsed as fast as I could around bodies to bump into Jesse.

  “Hey, babe. Where you been?” He clung to the pool stick for support. His eyes stood at half-mast and spittle leaked from his mouth.

  Totally nasty. I bolted up the stairs.

  Kids partied in the living room to the chords of “Evil Ways” while Greg and friends stationed themselves like demeaning c
ritics by the fireplace. I fleetingly contemplated leaving my coat behind. Did I really want to go searching for Greg’s bedroom? However, Mom’s condemnation would be infinite if I fibbed and told her I’d lost it. Girding myself, I was going to get that darn coat—no matter what.

  Ascending the stairs to the second story, I had to pick through groping couples. The bathroom door was agape, and Katy Milligan was heaving in the toilet. Her gagging turned my stomach as I walked over the carpeted hallway. I found four six-paneled doors—all shut.

  I turned a coppery knob and peeked in. Completely dark, but scintillating moans and the squeaking of a bed met my ears. Quietly securing the door, I moved on. Before trying the next knob, I planted my ear to the door and heard nothing. I opened it a smidge to see the room was alight and coats were piled on the bed.

  After striding over to the heap, I scavenged through the menagerie of fabrics.

  Suddenly, the lights went out. Blinded by temporary blackness, I heard heavy footfalls fast approaching. Someone tackled me to the mattress—someone big and strong. My arms thrashed at a firm chest, but hands like vice-grips seized my wrists, shackling them over my head. A man’s frame flattened me into the mattress as I writhed and kicked my legs without success. With the guy crushing me, I couldn’t catch a breath, and my short, shrieking bursts came out as grunts and groans. A mirthless chortle fell from the guy’s lips. He stunk of liquor and weed.

  “Get off,” I managed to say. “Get the fuck off me.”

  A dark shadow neared my face. A mouth squashed my lips, and a repellent tongue tried to pry my lips apart. He pinched the skin on my upper arm, and I cried out, giving him the opportunity to invade. The pervert raped my mouth with his tongue halfway down my throat.

  I couldn’t breathe at all, and I started hyperventilating. Staying composed wasn’t working for me. If I passed out, all would be lost. His weight shifted, mashing my left boob. I thought he was releasing me, but his free hand tore at my sweater. His fingers fumbled with the waistband of my jeans. I wanted to die when I felt and heard him unzip my jeans.

  No. No! This can’t be happening. Someone help me. Help me!

  Spider-like fingers scaled my chest as I squirmed with a vengeance. His fondling generated mewling cries from me, which seemed to stimulate him all the more. A sliver of respite came as the guy scraped my cheek with his stubble, but then he breathed heavily and tugged at the hips of my jeans.

  “No, no…” I whimpered as his head tunneled into the crook of my neck. “Please, please…stop.”

  After nipping and biting the soft skin of my shoulder, he blocked my cries with his mouth.

  His hand stopped fondling me as he rolled sideways, crunching my sternum. The sound of a zipper being unzipped flew me into hysterics. Sobbing harder, I felt as if he was asphyxiating me and retched on acidic bile.

  When he tried to force his knee between my thighs, I plastered my legs together and locked my ankles. He drunkenly cussed, then a growl rumbled in his throat as he exerted pressure with his knees. Slipping his hand to my inner thighs, he squeezed my tender skin and twisted, again and again. Pain seared up and down my legs, and he suffocated my screams with his offensive mouth. With my struggle weakening, it enabled him to jack down my jeans with a shoed foot, abrading the insides of my legs before wedging his knees between them.

  It was impossible to stop him. Too feeble and hurt, I prayed to pass-out. The world tilted, and I was almost thankful as I drifted into a black void, but not before the weighted body on top of me peeled off.

  “Mary, are you okay?” I heard from my black abyss.

  When my eyelids flickered opened, I was pillowed on someone’s lap. A secure hand cupped my shoulder. Lying on the front seat of a car, the purring of the heater and slight jostling lulled me into a sense of a safe haven. From my vantage point, I peered over a pair of legs to a distinguishable pair of cowboy boots on the gas pedal.

  Michael. We must be alone, or the girls are passed out in the back seat.

  Sore and achy, I wondered if moving from my comfortable position was an option? I licked my chapped lips, they stung and felt swollen. The rhythmic ticking of the turn signal was somehow pacifying. Michael’s hand spun the wheel, making a turn. I elbowed the seat, shifting upright. My eyes instantly connected with his, probing and intense.

  “How you feeling?” His tone was placid, controlled.

  All it took was his empathy to get my stormy emotions to explode. Endeavoring to suppress my bubbling tears, I parted my lips, breathing in and out. Instead of calming myself, it made me dizzier. The turbulent rhythm of my rampant heartbeats actually hurt my chest. The surge overflowed, I squeezed my palms into my eye sockets as my shoulders heaved with uncontainable sobs.

  Michael swerved the truck to the side of the road and parked. Gathering me into his arms, he rocked me like a baby. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” He leaned over to the glove compartment and retrieved a handful of tissues.

  Fluid drained from my eyes, mouth, and nose. A repulsive mess, I pressed the tissues to my face. They came away black.

  Great, my mascara is liquefying down my cheeks, adding to my psychotic meltdown.

  “W-w-why?”

  Michael held me tighter as I attempted to form words.

  “Ho-ow could someone do that? So-o so bad. I…I thought… Oh. My. God.”

  “I’m sorry, Mary. I’m sorry. That never should’ve happen.”

  My stammering subsided, I said, “What a fuckin’ asshole.”

  “Do you want me to take you to the police station?”

  The thought of filing a report with the cops sent me into a fit of physical spasms and another crying jag. Soon, the dry heaves started. Michael lifted me out of the truck and set me on a stranger’s front lawn, and I dropped to my knees. My stomach curdled as a volcanic gush of booze and snack food spewed over the manicured grass.

  His hands kneaded the nape of my neck and massaged the length of my spine. After one, final shutter, he stabilized me on my feet.

  “I…I’m good,” my voice squeaked as he assisted me into the truck. “I lie. I’m not fine. How did you…” As my weeping abated, compulsive hiccupping fostered my mental collapse. “How’d I get…”

  “I carried you out.” He understood what I was trying to say. “I said you passed-out and I was driving you to Candy’s. Steve should be here soon with the girls.”

  Michael’s arms rose and swept the hair from either side of my cheeks, exposing my puffy face, red-rimmed eyes, and leaky nose. I snagged the wad of tissues I’d left on the seat and brought them to my nose.

  “Did you see him?” I asked, my words stifled through the tissues. “Who…who was it?”

  “I don’t know,” his said, clenching teeth and looking grim. “I grabbed the bastard by the neck, but he jerked backwards and clobbered me in the forehead.” Michael flexed his fingers. “He ran. I was more worried about you, so I let him go. We should’ve called the cops.”

  “But…then…people will know…. Everyone will think…”

  “Yeah, it would’ve been a bad scene.”

  I scrubbed beneath my eyes and cheeks and blew my nose. His sincere gaze locked on me. Agitation spilled into his face, and his eyes peered at me under his long lashes.

  “Bambi, your freckles have resurfaced.”

  “There’re so ugly.” I knew what he was doing. Trying to change the channel of my neurosis.

  “Not on your button nose.” As he curled a strand of my hair around his finger, he inadvertently stroked my cheek. At least I think he didn’t mean to touch me, and I liked it.

  Overjoyed by his compliment and at the same time I was fearful. Still prevalent was the devastating pressure of an obscene man and his ability to overpower me so effortlessly. It was demoralizing. I began to tremble like a leaf in the wind.

  If it weren’t for Michael..
.

  “Are we at Candy’s?”

  “It’s just up the block.” He nestled me under his arm.

  Somewhere within those minutes my trembling relented.

  “We can wait here ‘til Steve’s car passes.”

  “You can’t miss his purple monstrosity.”

  His dimples hit me vehemently. No guy should be that good-looking. A streetlight bathing the car cast a shimmery glow on my hair as he continued to curl and uncurl it on his fingers. “Looks like gold,” he murmured, staring at the hair decorating his fingers.

  I felt solaced until images of Michael and Dee necking in the alcove tumbled in. Images I aspired to disband from my memories, along with the past terrifying hour.

  What did people think when he carried an unconscious me to his truck?

  He saved me. He consoled me. I was indebted to him. Now what?

  As if I was seated next to a baking oven, my body was torqueing hot from his close proximity. I hedged my hips from his, bit by bit, and in doing so, his arm slipped off my shoulders. He hands dropped into his lap, and he turned to gaze into his side mirror, more than likely looking for my brother’s car.

  “Was Dee upset?” I asked.

  He veered back to me. “About you passing out?” His head cocked, and a ropy length of hair netted over his eye.

  “Er…that I wanted to leave when things were…umm…” Should I mention their make-out session? It seemed crazy to talk of such mundane things, but I had to turn off the faucet to the attempted rape or I’d lose it.

  “The party was over for me.” He flicked the hair that was hanging in his eye. “If that’s what you mean. I was ready to leave, then I saw you climbing the stairs.”

  “You saw me going up the stairs?” I asked, baffled. “You followed me from the basement?”

  “Basement?” A crease formed between his eyebrows.