Chapter Five
? Holly ?
A few months later, Maria and I were sitting in my room.
Next week was finals, and, after that, the blessed relief of Christmas break.
The first time I brought Maria home, my mother nearly hit the floor.
I could see the emotions at war on her face.
On one hand, I had made a friend. On the other, said friend dressed in faded thrift store T-shirts and beat-up sneakers.
Maria won her over pretty quickly, though, showing up at our front door with a plate of hojarascas.
Since then, much to my dismay, Mom has treated her like a charity case.
Maria hasn’t seemed to mind though, and has become very good at fending off my mother.
She was droning off about science and reading from one of the many textbooks scattered around us.
I was barely listening, opting instead to munch on the chips I had snagged from the kitchen and glaring at the handprint bruise on her arm.
How could I possibly focus on what happened when you combined this chemical with that?
I couldn’t. Not when that bruise was staring back at me.
It was like every bruise on her made me feel his hands on me again.
I barely repressed a shudder. To make myself feel better, I imagined what sulfuric acid and hydrogen peroxide would do to a pervert’s skin. See? That’s science. I was studying.
About two weeks ago, Maria had finally opened up to me about Jesse, her boyfriend, but it was the barest of details.
She had stopped hiding her bruises when it was just the two of us.
I knew feeling that pressure, that need, to hide the truth was an awful thing.
I knew how badly it sucked. But those marks pissed me off.
I frowned at the offending blue on her tawny skin.
Either she was ignoring my heavy gaze or she was oblivious.
It was hard to tell with her. A knock on the door distracted me momentarily, and Maria quickly pulled the blanket over her bare arms. My dad poked his head in and smiled at us.
“How goes it, girls?”
“Great! I think we’re just about done,” Maria chirped.
“Science is the root of all evil, closely followed by math,” I stated bluntly.
My dad laughed. “Careful, science and math are how I pay our bills. It’s pretty important. I was thinking of ordering a pizza for dinner. Would you like to stay, Maria?”
“Oh, Mr. McCarthy, I really appreciate the offer but I actually have to get going pretty soon. I’m expected home.”
Home. I gripped the bowl of chips in my lap so tightly I think I heard the plastic protest. Maria’s grandma was super old, and super sick.
And freaking Jesse, the boyfriend from Hell, lived with them.
So, the only way food got on their table was if Maria cooked it.
I wondered briefly if I could sneak into Maria’s Uber and finally meet the son of a bitch.
Expected home. Are you kidding me? Like a maid out past her curfew. Like it would kill him to warm up a damn hotdog or something. Cup of noodles. Frozen lasagna. Hell, even I know how to work an oven and I am dangerous in the kitchen. And not in a good way.
“Holly, honey?” My dad’s slightly concerned voice pulled me from my thinking; he appeared to be waiting for an answer. I blinked owlishly at him, and he repeated himself, “What kind of pizza?”
“Oh, um…BBQ chicken? With pineapple.” He gave me a thumbs up and shut the door behind him as he left.
Maria teased me about my weird taste in pizza and then started again on the science study guide.
My pizza was weird, but it was delicious.
You know what’s weird and not delicious?
A man putting his hands on you. Fuck him.
Fuck this. I had been quiet long enough.
With that, I slammed my bowl of chips down so hard on the textbook that some of them fell out of the bowl.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
I pulled the blankets off her and gestured to the bruise there.
Maria blushed furiously and I said, “I know we haven’t known each other for long, but this is stupid.
Am I supposed to just pretend you’re super accident prone?
Or maybe you gave yourself that mark? You told me about Jesse and I appreciate that. But be for real.”
“Holly, come on…”
“No, Maria. I want answers. Starting with why you put up with it.”
“I don’t put up with anything.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” I glared at her and she glared back, until her brown eyes started watering and she looked away.
“You don’t get it.”
I get more than you think. An old memory tried pushing its way to the front of my mind.
Mahogany body spray. Soft large hands. The sound of my tights ripping.
I shook my head, shoving that shit back down into the box I kept it in.
A small box with a tight lid, shoved into the darkest corners of my mind.
Maria wiped at a tear, and I said “Try me.”
She sighed, folding her hands in her lap and picking at the skin around her fingernails.
“He doesn’t mean it, ok? He just…he is super passionate.
And we’ve only been together for a year.
So, I’m still learning his cues, you know?
It’s not all bad, Holly. He’s so funny and he is really nice to my abuela… ”
I had been in the same place she was in now.
Well, maybe not the exact same. It had been a modeling coach that had been handsy with me, not my boyfriend.
And I had been a lot younger. But, still.
I had spent years blaming myself. Maybe if I hadn’t looked at him so much.
Maybe if I had made sure I was never alone with him.
Maybe this, maybe that. But eventually, I realized that even if I had danced naked in front of the motherfucker, I was twelve and he was in his damn thirties, and he had no right to put his hands on me. Absolutely none.
I swallowed, thinking back to the trial.
To my trophy case back home.
How they found him not guilty.
After all he had done. All those memories neatly tucked away so I could manage day by day. I had felt so alone. Sometimes still do. Like hell was my newfound bestie gonna put up with the same shit I had to.
“No.”
“What?”
“You don’t hurt the people you love.”
“But—”
“No buts. It’s not ok. You love someone, their pain is your pain. And you do everything you can to keep them safe. So, no. It’s abuse. And he’s an asshole. It’s that simple. There shouldn’t be any cues, any triggers. You are not his punching bag, even when he’s having a shit day.”
“You don’t understand.”
I looked at her. At the bruises. The bags under her eyes.
And I realized that if I wanted to get through to her, there was only one way.
Stupid fucking boxes. I closed my eyes, mentally preparing myself to open up everything I had carefully sealed away with duct tape and bright yellow caution ribbon.
Swallowing thickly, I looked at the far wall and then back to her. “Yeah, I do. More than you think.
“Growing up in Cali, my mom put me in a ton of these competitions. Beauty pageants, contests, challenges…you name it. And I was really, really good. When I was eleven, I had already won a bunch of stuff. And, one day, after a show, a guy named Scott Lauren came up to my mom.
“He seemed so nice. He was a modeling agent, and a judge. He was practically famous in our world, you know? My mom was so excited. This was like my ticket to the big leagues. And everything was fine for a few months. Then, on my twelfth birthday, he called me to his office and said he had a special surprise for me. For the birthday girl.”
I saw the moment the lightbulb went off in her head. Her brown eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in horror. It suddenly dawned on me that my cheeks were wet. I hadn’t talked about this in so long, but the pain was still there.
“Four years, Maria. Four fucking years. And I wasn’t the only one.
When my mom finally caught on, she raised hell.
But I never competed again. Being on stage makes me sick.
Still does. That’s why we moved. Why I have these scars on my hands, from breaking my trophies.
Why I don’t like being touched. So, yeah.
I do understand. Some guys just suck. They are scum of the Earth. And Jesse is one of those guys.”
Maria launched herself across the bed, wrapping her arms around me.
At first, I stiffened. Girl, I literally just said I didn’t like being touched.
But this felt different. This was Maria, my friend.
And it felt so good to finally be seen. So I leaned into her, and, for a few minutes, we both cried, soaking each other’s shoulders and turning into a couple of snot-nosed goblins.
Eventually, I pulled back from her and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Please don’t go back to him, Maria.”
Her brown eyes were soulful, older than her seventeen years, and she shook her head. “I love him. What that man did to you was awful. But Jesse isn’t like that. He isn’t perfect, but he’s not Scott Lauren.”
I wanted to scream and throw the textbook. “I know he’s not. But Maria, Jesse is awful. He’s an asshole.”
“But he’s mine. My asshole. For better or worse. He loves me.”
I stared at her, and she looked away, “Does he, though? Or is he just using you? Abusing you? In the name of love. He. Doesn’t. Love. You.” I grabbed her arm, holding her bruise up to the light. “This isn’t love.”
She stood abruptly and yanked her arm back. “Ok, I get you’re concerned or whatever, but you don’t get to judge me. You don’t get to act like you know better. So, just stop. Stop making this about you.”
“About me? You can’t be serious. I am just telling you what everyone else is thinking. This isn’t about me.”
“Whatever. I gotta go make dinner.”
I scoffed. “Fine. Go back to him. But if you ever get tired of being his fucking punching bag, you’ll know where I’ll be.”