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 feelhishands 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. Iwasstudying.
About two weeks ago, Maria had finally opened up to me about Jesse, her boyfriend, but it was the barest of details. Shehad 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—”
