Page 15 of The Other Side of Together

“I said stop.” I thrash under him, but he jerks me closer, and a sound launches from the hard panic in my chest and out my throat. His lips smother it, but I twist my head away, pressing my lips together.

“I’m tired of your teasing,” he growls, and I strain my neck away from him, adrenaline hurling through me. His fingers scrape under my shirt. “I give you everything you want. It’s my turn.”

I drive my knee into his groin, and he roars and rolls to the side of me. Scrambling to my feet, I dart toward the door, but he grabs me, spinning me around until he trips, and we fall, my cheek smacking the nightstand before we hit the rug.

All sound is muffled as he pins me face down on the rug, red and orange flowers bleeding together as I cup my face, catching up to the moment. Heat swells under my palm and tears burn my eyes as I will the spinning room to steady, my breath rattling out of me. Nick flips me to my back, hovering over me, eyes and hands greedy.

“Nick!” A voice rises and when it breaks into the room, my heart leaps toward it, and my eyes land on Chaz who looks from Nick to me.

“Get out,” Nick snaps, his voice gravel, but Chaz shakes his head and motions over his shoulder, his eyes darting to mine.

“There’s something you need to handle downtown.”

“Take care of it,” Nick snarls, but Chaz stays in the doorway.

“Above my head. It’s gotta be you.”

Nick curses and pushes himself up, stumbling out of the room. My chest heaves, heart pounding in my throat while I lie still, like any movement will remind him I’m here.

Chaz’s hard eyes pin me to the floor before he disappears, and my muscles surrender, shoulder blades sinking into the rug. My body shakes and I pull my knees to my chest, tears slicing my swollen throat.

A door slams downstairs, rattling the crystals dangling so far above me. There are hundreds of them, but even together, they’re not bright enough to shove away the darkness spreading through me. Nick has never hurt me. He’s brought me gifts. Offered to pay for culinary school and to let me stay in one of his houses. I’ve let him. Almost let him take something I didn’t want to give him.

My palm rests on the screaming welt on my face like I can hide from what just happened on this bleeding flower rug. Feeling comes back into my fingers, and when chairs scrape downstairs, I scramble to my feet, grabbing the duvet for balance.

Scanning the open door, I swipe the back of my hand over my neck where Nick’s mouth left wet spots. I smooth my shirt. My fingers tremble over the button on my jeans and fasten it. I’m in one piece. Everything’s where it should be. Except for my insides.

I snatch my bag off the floor and dart out of the room, gripping the railing as I skim the stairs, jerking to a stop at the bottom where Chaz lounges on a sofa, smoking another joint. A girl wearing next to nothing is curled next to him, her sunken eyes on me while her fingertips trail his stomach. I dart toward the front door, and Chaz’s voice echoes behind me.

“Family or not, I can’t keep bailing you out.”

I glance over my shoulder, my eyes skimming the girl before meeting Chaz’s. “You’ve never had to. He’s never been like this.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’ll take what he wants, however he wants, because he can. He owns you, me, your parents, the restaurant, our existence in this country. Some of us would like to keep it that way.” He takes a drag and tilts his head back, blowing smoke into the air above the girl. “If you and your parents want to stay here, you’ll do what you gotta do.”

My throat burns as I rush to the front door and hurl myself outside. Towering bougainvillea vines swallow the lights on Nick’s house, and I dart around the corner, promising myself I will never step near him again. I will move out after graduation and tell no one where I’m going. Chef Marco said I’m going places. I can make that happen. Somehow. I can figure it out.

I don’t want the oak bedroom set. I can choose another door.

Hot, swirling anger seeps from under the rock of panic in my stomach, and I clench my jaw and cross my arms, shoving my hands into my armpits to bring feeling back into my fingers. His generosity is not out of the goodness of his heart; it comes with thick, strangling ropes.

A homeless man slumped against a building whistles at me, but I glare at him as I pass, my anger and hatred toward Drunk Nick shooting out of my eyes and striking this innocent person. I turn corners and cross streets, wishing my feet could move faster down steps, across Union Square, and into Chinatown where the smell of chòu dòufu clings to the air. Laughter from a passing group of teenagers stings my ears; it’s the sound of freedom. I don’t care that Baba and Nick’s baba were best friends, or that when Nick’s baba died, he left all his money to Nick who promised to use some of it to help Baba with the restaurant. Nick’s baba snuck us into America, and since Nick helped us stay, he has the power to hold mehostage. I bet that wasn’t part of his baba’s dying wish. Or that Nick should become a monster.

A shiver ripples up my spine, and cold shame creeps through me. I was so afraid of losing my future, I was willing to let him be part of it. And then last night. I kissed him to stop the accusations about Marcus.

I touch the welt on my cheek. Chaz says Nick owns me, but I can’t lose myself to him or the promises he dangles over me.

A hazy neon light blinks TATTOOS, PIERCINGS, READINGS in Mandarin and English and I stop in the orange light puddle under the sign. The haze inside the dingy shop matches the inside of my head and wraps around me, pulling me inside.

A group of people sit cross-legged in a circle around a giant bong, swaying to a song a Chinese guy with dreads is plunking on his guitar. I envy their relaxation. I’ve never done drugs, but I hear they take people away. I’d like to be far, far away.

A bulky, bearded man with crooked teeth smiles at me from behind the front counter which is slathered in stickers. I turn to leave but notice words inscribed on a wooden sign above the door:I hear and I forget; I see and I remember; I do and I understand. Confucius.

“You okay?”

The bearded guy points to my cheek, and I cover it with my hand and nod. “Yes. Fine. I ran into a door. Walking and texting.” I give him a shaky smile.

He grimaces, then motions over his shoulder. “I can get you some ice if you want. Looks pretty swollen.”

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