I watch in amazement as Zeke’s hands move across the paper. I never would have guessed his tough exterior hid such a skill. The drawing is beautiful, all the black and white shading perfect. I can immediately tell that Zeke’s gift with drawing is somehow not being able to just capture the scene itself, but all the emotions contained within it.
I can feel it all; Cindy’s determination and pleasure, even Jenny’s satisfaction at seeing her student succeed. I can’t take my eyes off of his long, brown fingers. I’ve never noticed what beautiful hands Zeke has. His fingers are long and strong looking, clean fingernails clipped to the quick. Veins stand out on the backs of his wrists and wind up through his strongly muscled forearms underneath his dark skin.
His hands move confidently over the drawing, adding more shading and finite details that I never would have even noticed in real life; the piece of hair escaped from Jenny’s bun, the slight lopsidedness of Cindy’s hair bow and the worn spots on her ballet slippers, shown by having her feet up in the air.
“You’re really good,” I finally say. “Like, amazingly good, Zeke. Why don’t you draw anymore?”
I see his jaw tighten and know I’ve touched on a tender subject.
“I just don’t,” he says.
“But why?” I persist. “I mean, you could probably get a scholarship or something. You’re seriously good.”
“Just leave it alone, Evie,” he says through clenched teeth.
I know for a fact that Zeke’s family has next to no money—clearly evidenced by his paying for Cindy’s dance lessons—and I wonder why in the world he would turn down a potential free ride to college. I feel indignant that he would try and throw away his talent for no good reason. Maybe he’s just as crazy as Tony and me after all.
“But you could go to CCAD on scholarship so easily,” I begin, and he finally looks up at me.
I know instantly that I’ve pushed him too far and that I should have let the subject drop. His jaw is clenched even more tightly, and his light eyes pin me down to my chair, so tightly I feel I can’t move a muscle.
“Okay. If we’re going to bare our souls to one another, why don’t you tell me why you won’t tell your dad that your perfect boyfriend
beats
you?”
“Be quiet!” I hiss, looking around the studio to make sure that no one has heard him. Luckily, all the parents around us seem too consumed in their own business to pay any attention to us. I turn back to Zeke and say in a low voice, “I think that’s a little bit different of a situation. You can’t possibly understand it.”
“It doesn’t seem like there’s really all that much to understand,” Zeke says, his eyes steady on me.
“Well, there is,” I snap.
“Then I’ll thank you to remember the same could be true of my reasons for not drawing anymore,” he says, and pointedly turns back to his drawing. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”
I’ve been well and truly humbled, and suddenly the safe feeling I got when I saw him is completely gone and I feel anger and indignation and embarrassment course through me. I can’t really be upset about it, because it makes me realize I’m still alive, that I can still think and feel. I stand up and stalk away, seeing no reason to remain.
Ezekiel
15
Two nights later I’m working the club’s dining room, which is slow even for a Wednesday night, when Tony Stull steps in front of me, blocking my path back to the kitchen. We stare at each other for a long moment, and I take in his clenched fists and the weird light in his blue eyes. I have him by almost two inches and we’re in a public place, so he doesn’t scare me, but the crazy look in his eyes is almost as unnerving as the empty one in Evie’s.
“You better stay away from Evie, Quain,” he finally says, and my eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“Excuse me?” The idea that he actually thinks I would go for someone like Evie Parker is laughable. Out of my league, and definitely not my type.
“Don’t try to deny it,” Tony growls. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. You’re like a mutt eyeing another dog’s bone. I’ve got news for you; she’s taken, and she’s happy, and I want you to stay away from her. Quit bothering her, especially when she visits Jenny.”
Ahh. So he must have seen the two of us talking at the dance studio at some point. I allow a smile to play on my lips, gleaning satisfaction from the way his whole body tenses because I’m not taking him seriously. It gives me the greatest pleasure to say, “Tell your
girl
to stay away from me, Stull. She approached me first. So maybe she’s not as satisfied as you think.”
He growls. The boy actually
growls
at me, taking a step forward, and I stay still, staring at him without blinking. He’s nothing compared to Cameron, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to stand my ground. Finally, Tony seems to gain control of himself and steps back once more, allowing his eyes to flick over my uniform, focusing on the brand-new stains from tonight’s special of lasagna and spaghetti over veal that mottle my white shirt.
“Don’t forget your place, Quain,” he whispers. “You’re trash, and you’ll always belong in the gutter.”
I smile pleasantly at him, because I don’t feel threatened in the least. If he thinks he can make things worse for me, he’s seriously overestimating how much he thinks I have going for me in life.
“Oh, I know my place, Tony. Just don’t blame me if your girlfriend is finding something in the gutter that she can’t find in the silver spoon stuck up your ass.”
I expect a smart retort, but Tony’s face instantly flushes bright red and he turns sharply on one heel, storming out of the dining room. He nearly knocks a few people over, he’s going so fast. I watch him go for a long moment, and have a sudden quiver of uneasiness somewhere deep within me. It’s only just occurred to me that taunting an abusive guy about having an affair with his girlfriend might not have been the best idea. I force the emotions and feelings away, reasoning that if it brings Evie trouble, it’s her fault, not mine. I told her to tell someone, to get out, and she refused.
Whatever happens next will be on her, not me. I don’t do guilt or pity. I haven’t for years, and I sure as hell am not going to start now.
Evangeline
16
I spend the rest of the week studiously avoiding ever looking Zeke in the eye, and even when Jenny asks if I want to come to dance to hang out with her between classes, I say no, just in case Zeke is there too. I don’t want to chance another run in with him, because somehow it always seems to evolve into an argument, or he brings up Tony. I don’t want to talk about any of that.
Tony seems strangely distant all week, but to tell the truth, I’m grateful. Last time, afterward, he wouldn’t leave me alone, was constantly apologizing and trying to hug and kiss me, to comfort me. His touch had been especially repulsive, and it had taken extreme, sweat-inducing effort not to push him away and scream at him not to touch me. So this time, I’m grateful for the distance, that he doesn’t try to be extra affectionate with me. I don’t think I could stand it.
My dad and Clarissa are home by the time I get back from school on Tuesday, and I instantly feel better with my dad in the house. I run to him and hug him long and hard, until Clarissa snorts and walks away. He kisses me on the top of the head and asks me how I am, and I promptly burst into tears. He asks me if everything is all right, and I almost tell him.
Almost.
Luckily, my answer of PMS makes him uncomfortable enough not to pursue the issue any further. I’m grateful that he gives me a little distance after that, so I can build up my walls again, remember why I keep this secret.
Regardless, the house feels safe again, normal, although I still can’t face my bedroom. I’ve fallen asleep every night on the basement couch with the television on. I feel ridiculous, darting in and out of my bedroom, as though scared of a monster in the closet or underneath my bed.
But really, the monster is in my head, always with me, and there is never any shaking it.
On Saturday there is another wedding at the country club, and this time, only Tony and I will be attending. None of our other friends have been invited, though both our parents will be there. I spend the day at my dad’s office, attempting to train the new receptionist. I’ll be surprised if she lasts even two weeks, she’s so scatterbrained. It was sad that I could think that Chantal or Tiffany, who have never worked a day in their lives, can do better than most of the girls my dad hires. At least my summer job appears to be safe.
Finally, I am able to go home and rush through a shower and throw on a light blue dress, one of Tony’s favorites because of the open back. It’s one of my usual tricks, hoping to placate him by wearing something he likes. Most of the time, though, I don’t think it even matters anymore. When Tony loses control, when something presses one of his buttons, there’s no stopping him. Maybe it’s time to stop trying.
I’ve just put the last curl in my hair when the doorbell rings. The dread in my stomach tells me it’s Tony even before I glance out the bathroom window and see his car in the driveway. It used to be easier to tolerate him, to act like nothing was wrong, to still remember the old Tony.
Now, though, I feel like I am dating a total stranger all the time. Walking on eggshells, never knowing when one will crack.
We walk into the club and first thing, my eyes meet those of Zeke Quain. He’s standing just inside the doors of the banquet hall, taking any coats and wraps from the guests and checking them. There’s a long moment where we just look at each other, and I’m the first to look away. Tony’s hand, holding mine, tightens to a painful degree.
I look up at him and can tell by the glint in his eyes that he saw Zeke and me looking at each other. As I hand over my light coat I make sure my fingers don’t touch Zeke’s and I turn sharply away as soon as he hands Tony our ticket. We check the seating chart and find ourselves seated at a table with Tony’s parents and my dad and Clarissa.
Tony is his usual charismatic, talkative self, but I can tell somehow that something isn’t right. He barely addresses me, doesn’t touch me. And as luck would have it, Zeke is the waiter assigned to our table, and every time he walks up to us, Tony noticeably stiffens.
Tension fills the air, and I feel sick to my stomach with nervousness. I keep waiting for one of them to do something, push the other or at least for Zeke to accidentally drop something in Tony’s lap. The disdainful looks Zeke keeps shooting the back of Tony’s head makes his opinion of my boyfriend clear. The rational part of my brain, however, tells me that all of this is ridiculous.
I keep seeing Zeke shoot glances at my dad and pursing his lips or shaking his head a little bit. It makes me worried he will tell my secret, and the idea makes me sick. It’s all too much and my stomach is churning. I feel so sick I can only eat two bites of my dinner, and by the time the plates are removed, all I want is to go home. But I have another few tedious hours to go.
Aside from the moment where he squeezed my hand, Tony is strangely calm all evening. He touches me minimally, even while we’re dancing. He doesn’t ever take hold of my neck, one of his favorite intimidation tactics. He doesn’t hold my hand or put his arm around me, and somehow, it has me more nervous than when he tries to actually touch me a lot. I can feel now that something is wrong, has been wrong ever since the night he came over, and it’s not something on my part. Something is wrong with Tony, and my mind is going crazy trying to figure out what it might be.
The problem is that anything could set him off, something about our relationship, something with his parents, something with school. Things that are totally unrelated to the two of us are still my fault. Tony is able to make bizarre leaps and connections, arguments so convincing that I actually believe things are my fault, even though rationally, I know they aren’t, that I shouldn’t think that way. Like the time he got a B on one of his finals, and he said it was my fault for texting him that morning and distracting him, because all he could think about was me. Or the time we were late for dinner at the club once, and even though he had picked me up and I had been ready to go, I had made us late because I was never ready on time.
I go through the motions of having a good time at the wedding, all the actions so painfully familiar that I don’t even have to think about it. Smile plastered on my face, drink in my hand, easy conversation flowing from my lips. Half the time I don’t even know what I’m saying. Later, I could barely remember anything about the reception.
I am trembling though. Trembling with every breath that I take, and I can hear the shaky exhales as they are forced out of my lungs. Every breath in and out is a struggle, and that’s mostly what I’m thinking about, all I can focus on.
Keep on breathing, Evie, just keep breathing. Whatever it is, he’ll get it out of him tonight and then it will be over and done with. Just a few more hours, a little more pain.