Page 172 of Wanting What's Wrong

Volume Five

STEP-TEASE

One

Jenna

My heart is breaking. My boobs are aching. I’m an eighteen-year-old lactating virgin.

Unpack that.

“It’s only for a year.” My older sister Renae bounces ten-month-old Morgan on her hip, her chubby fingers tugging at my hair as I bite back another deluge of tears. “I promise, you will always be the best auntie. You saved my life taking care of her. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

Sweet Morgan. The product of a less-than-ideal relationship my sister had with an old high school flame who quickly beat it out of town to California as soon as the pregnancy test turned up with two pink lines.

“She saved me too,” I mutter through shaking lips as Morgan’s hand moves to the neckline of my t-shirt, pulling, as that tingling, burning ache in my nipples nearly brings me to my knees.

“I gotta take this assignment, sis. And youcannotstay here.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at the chaos of the small rental house my mom and her boyfriend call home.

“I’ll be fine,” I lie as the pain in my chest is overridden by the throbbing on the left side of my face where Mom’s boyfriend-slash-supplier left a reminder for her that no matter their relationship, she still owes him money.

“You are notfine. This place is notfine.” She seethes, raven black hair slicked back into a tight bun, her fatigues crisp and clean. Morgan starts to fuss, her eyes on mine, telling our secrets.

The cubicle of a living room is strewn with beer cans and filth. Coming back here after the calm order of Renae’s on-base apartment has cut me to the quick, but she’s gotten her new, dream assignment in France as an air traffic controller for the Army base there, and what am I going to put on my resume for a job that pays enough to afford my own place?

Babysat my sister’s kiddo since she was an infant after graduating high school, then when sis had to leave for two months of security training, I decided to comfort nurse and holy shit, you know what?

Comfort nursing turned into the real deal.

My body responded like it found its calling. Now my tits are heavy, I have to double up on the nursing pads inside my bras, and I’ve been secretly pumping to relieve the pain and pressure. So if thereisa job for someone with milk-making at an Olympic Sport level, I’m your girl.

I stare at the fist-sized hole in the blue-painted drywall next to the open front door. Summer sunshine streams through the dusty, musty air of the house.

It’s a not so gentle reminder of Roger’s preemptive strike before he landed his next punch on my left eye socket when I tried to get in between him and mom.

My stomach rolls, nausea curdling the Oreo Milkshake I hadfor our goodbye lunch dessert, sharing it with Morgan. A guilty pleasure I enjoyed sharing with her as her stand-in-mom.

“Come on.” Renae’s voice takes on that motherly tone. “I know you’re still packed from coming back here from my place. Grab your shit. I’m taking you to Cal’s.”

The world stops spinning.

Cal.

Six foot seven. Green eyes. Wears a cowboy hat like it’s X-rated. Walked me to school every day for a month when the mean girl crew turned their focus on me.

“I can’t—” My mouth turns drier than my bank account. “When did you talk to him?”

My curiosity is like a candle flickering in the darkness, quickly igniting the heat of a nuclear core meltdown downtown in girltown.

“Yesterday. He asked about you before I could even get to the point.”

“I never answered his letters. He probably hates me.” I scuff the toe of my knock off Birkenstock on the corner of the cracked linoleum square of the foyer as my mom’s voice seeps from down the hall, yelling about someone hiding her foil and lighter.

Renae shakes her head. “Nope. No hate. He’s back settled at the ranch. You’re going there.” I open my mouth to protest, but narrows her eyes, giving me that hard, big sister stare. “I’m not debating this. You are going. You are not staying here. I won’t sleep, I won’t be able to function knowing you are here with—” She releases one hand from where she’s holding the baby to wave it in an arc around the shabby disaster of a room. “Now, get your shit. I’ve got two hours to get to the plane, and I’m dropping you off where I know you’ll be safe. He’s expecting you.”

It’s ironic that she’s right that I’d be safe there, considering he’s just been released after spending six months in prison for domestic assault. I know he’s not dangerous. Well, at least not in a way I need to worry about.

My mom concocted the abuse story, complete with self-inflicted bruises. But, Cal had a couple old convictions and even with his pricey attorney, the judge gave him six months.

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