DREARY UNDERTONE

Chapter 16

I can walk away from Harry, forget his money, and try to make up the loss with all the other guys who want the same things he wants.

Or I can tell them all to f**k off and let the mortgage default. I’m not eighteen yet. I can go to social services and explain my situation. Maybe they’ll step in and put me in foster care. But there’s a good chance a new home would be too far away to commute to Le Montaigne. Can I put my future in the hands of some grown-up who decides where I go to school? And what about Arnheim? A temporary family may not let me bring him. My heart pinches just thinking about that. He’s not just a cat. Arnheim is the last gift my dad gave me before he died. He’s the only living form of love I have left to wrap my arms around.

Or I can accept Harry’s offer, endure just one high-school d**k, and keep my house, my school, and my cat.

The pressure of tears burns the backs of my eyes as I force my lips around my answer. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He sits up, his entire body shifting to face me. “Okay…uh…” He twists around, scrutinizing the emptiness of the overgrown lot, and pauses when his gaze lands on the back seat. “Get out.”

With trembling hands, I put the binders on the floorboard, open the door, and step into a tangle of vines.

He’s out of the car and around to my side in a flash. A huge grin contorts his face as he opens the door to the back seat. “In there. On your back.”

No, no, no. My lungs labor for air, and every muscle in my body locks up.

“Noemiiiii,” he growls. “That’s not how this works. I’m not paying until I get my d**k wet.”

Oh God, he already has a condom in his hand.

Tall grass itches my ankles. The chirrup of nighttime insects creeps from the shadows of broken concrete. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. Another joins in. But it’s the godawful sound of a zipper that screeches past my ears.

He holds his d**k in his hand, the bulbous thing swollen to fullness and pointed right at me as he rolls on the condom. Nausea simmers, and saliva rushes into my mouth.

When he meets my eyes, his determined expression looks ghostly and sinister in the moonlight. “We doing this the easy way or the hard way? One of those earns you more money.”

A sheen of tears blurs my vision. I made this deal, knowing what came next. Suck it up and eat it, Noemi.

I turn toward the waiting door, press the heels of my hands against my eyes, and slide into the back seat.

My brain is already reaching for the dark notes of Scriabin’s Sonata No.9. The melody plays in my head as the weight of his body presses my back against the bench seat. I envision the complicated key strokes as he wrenches my panties to the side and shoves inside me, grunting, thrusting. So dry, so f*****g painful, the fire between my legs coaxes more tears from my eyes. I focus inward, blocking him out. I’m nearly lost in the discordant music of my mind when a ring tone chirps from Harry’s pocket.

“Fuck.” He fumbles around his legs and pulls his phone from the folds of his trousers. “Goddammit!”

“Get off me.”

“No. And I have to answer this, so keep your mouth shut.”

I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. His hips thrust harder as hatred leaks in huge drops from my eyes.

“It’s my mom.” He sets the phone on the seat above my head, the cheery ring tone bleeding into my ears. “If she hears you, the most I’ll get is a loss in allowance. But you…” His finger hovers over the screen as his hips drive against mine. “You’ll get kicked out of school.”

Before I can tell him he’s a f*****g moron, he taps the screen and puts it on speaker phone.

“What’s up, Mom?” He lifts his pelvis and slams back against me, the hunger on his face illuminated by the glow of the screen.

“Where are you?” The dean’s severe voice barks through the phone.

“Belle’s house.”

Who is Belle? I squirm beneath him, aching for this to be over with.

“You sound out of breath,” she says.

He cups my breast and squeezes. “Lifting weights. She has a sweet workout room.”

“Oh? Well, tell her mother I said hi. We need to do tea soon.”

“Yep.”

“Keep your hands to yourself, son. I don’t want any problems with her parents.”

I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out. His movements quicken, growing erratic. Thank God, he’s getting close, but how can he do this while holding a conversation with his mother? He’s so disgusting my skin recoils everywhere his heat penetrates my clothes.

“I saw you talking to that Carter girl at lunch,” the dean says.

My pulse skyrockets, but Harry’s in a whole other dimension. His mouth hangs open in a silent shout as his body flails and jerks through his release. The moment he’s finished, I shove him off me.

“Harry?” The dean exhales through the phone. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah. Noemi’s nice.” He stares at me and mouths, A nice f**k. Without looking away, he says aloud, “I don’t know why you have a problem with her.”

“She’s trying to steal your Lambert spot, Harry. Not only that, she has a reputation with the boys at school. Stay away from her.”

He drags a finger over his eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. Gotta go.”

“Harry—”

He hangs up and tosses the phone in the front seat. “Did you come?”

I angle away from him, covertly wiping away the tears as I growl, “Of course, I didn’t come, you idiot.”

He seriously thinks I enjoyed that? I’ve never had an orgasm, at least not that I know of. But if I’m capable of having one, it wouldn’t be with him.

I fix my panties and yank my skirt down. “Who’s Belle?”

He pulls off the condom and adjusts his slacks. “My girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” A thick lump forms in my throat. “Why are you cheating on her?”

“She’s a prude. But you’re not, are you?” He reaches for the V in my shirt.

I knock his hand away and grab my satchel from the front seat.

“Bet you’ve f****d more guys than there are keys on a piano.”

Eighty-eight guys? Heat tingles my face as I open the door and jump out. Truth is, I’m not sure of the number. Maybe half that? Maybe more.

He climbs out the other side and meets my eyes over the roof of the car. “Fifty-two white guys at Le Montaigne and thirty-six black guys in Treme. Am I right?”

Fifty-two white keys, thirty-six black keys.

He thinks he’s clever with his sick analogy, but he has no idea how hurtful his comments are. Yes, I’ve had a lot of s*x with a lot of different guys. Not all of my experiences have been like this one. Sometimes I’m too weak and don’t have the physical strength or size to stop it. Other times, I feel tricked, bribed, trapped…sweet-talked. When I was younger, I let guys touch me in my stupid desperation for affection, but I eventually learned there isn’t anything affectionate about a swollen p***s. Still, there are moments when I wonder, Will this time be different? Maybe this one will hold me close and love me. Maybe it will feel good, and I fall back into the trap.

But after Harry’s hateful remarks, I don’t even want his f*****g money. I stride away, hooking the strap of the satchel over my shoulder. The projects of Central City stretch out around me, but I know the way, having walked this road every time Harry f****d me in that lot. Five blocks from here, I can catch a bus home.

The Cadillac’s engine starts, and a moment later, it rolls up beside me.

He extends an arm out the window, his hand filled with a wad of bills.

I stare at it, needing it, hating myself. “How often do I have to do this?”

“As often as I want.” A strand of blond hair falls over his eyes. “My first assignment is due on Monday, so we’ll meet again this week. Next time, I’ll make you come.”

A surge of anger scorches through my veins. I hate him. But I need him.

I swallow my pride and snatch the money from his hand.

He flashes me a sated smile and drives off, leaving me standing on the side of the road like the w***e that I am.

With the address from Noemi’s file mapped on my phone, I turn my old GTO onto her street. This doesn’t feel stalkery, but it doesn’t seem completely sane, either. What can I say? I’ve never needed an excuse to beat someone’s ass. I just didn’t imagine the ass I’d be beating tonight would belong to her brother. Yet here I am.

I don’t have a plan, only that Noemi can’t know I’m here. I should’ve reported her swollen lip. I damn sure shouldn’t have searched her body for bruises. But this? Showing up at her house? Definitely crossing into what-the-f**k-am-I-doing territory.

Dusk grays out the horizon, and there aren’t any street lamps. Maybe I can coax her brother outside without her seeing me and punch his lights out before he has a chance to memorize my face. Of course, if she glimpses my car, she’ll know. The 1970 Pontiac GTO is too recognizable. If she didn’t see it in the school parking lot tonight, she will before the year’s over.

I should’ve taken a cab, but I wasn’t exactly thinking when I left the classroom and drove straight here.

Following the GPS, I sneak along a row of sagging houses. No, not sneaking. The American muscle under the hood is a 455 V8, and its thundering dirty rumble has residents leaning forward on their porches. Pedestrians stop walking and gawk. It occurs to me that I won’t be able to leave the car on her street. It would be jacked within minutes.