Because of You Read online

  “Don’t even try it, Maddelena Martin. We’re going to this party, and I demand you have fun.”

  “It’s Maddie,” I say, correcting her for probably the twentieth time. I’ve always hated my name. It’s too long and seems pretentious. Plus, at almost every piano recital, the person announcing me gets it wrong. Mad. Elle. Ayy. Na. It doesn’t seem difficult, but then I’ve lived with it for eighteen years. “Why do you care if I have fun?”

  She looks like I slapped her but recovers quickly. It’s a fair enough question. Two days ago I didn’t know she existed. “Fine. I’ll call you Maddie as long as you do two couch shots at this party. Deal?” She punches my arm.

  I rub the spot she hit, worried. I have no idea what couch shots are, but after a moment’s pause I agree. “I guess.” I try to smile. My lips aren’t sure how it works, so I give up.

  Gina doesn’t seem to notice my almost smile as she gives me a quick once over. “And next time we go out, you have to let me do your hair and makeup. You look like you don’t give a damn what the boys think. Those jeans. Really? They’re like two sizes too big.”

  I blush, thankful she can’t see my embarrassment in the dark. Casually I glance at my clothes: slightly baggy jeans hanging off my bony hips, tan ballet flats, and a pink t-shirt. “What do you mean? This outfit is…awesome.” I know it isn’t, but I don’t care.

  I have a serious infatuation with shoes, not fashion. All I own are ballet flats, but shoes are how I study people, the world.

  She huffs. “Did you even brush your hair?”

  I’m not one for confrontation, but Gina is getting on my nerves. “Yes, I brushed my hair,” I say, discreetly running a hand along the ends. “Rude much?”

  Her face falls. “Shit, I’m sorry. My therapist says I need to work on thinking about what I say before I say it.”

  She sees a therapist? Good to know. Maybe we do have something in common. “No problem,” I say.

  We walk in silence until we’re across the street from the frat house. People are all over the lawn, on the wide wrap-around porch, and hanging out the second and third story windows. Everyone appears to be having fun. A part of me longs to let go, to be carefree. To “live a little.” That’s what my aunt told me to do when she dropped me off.

  We cross the street and Gina asks, “We good?”

  “Of course.”

  The party-smile returns to her face. “Cool! Let’s rock,” she shouts, raising a fisted hand in the air.

  Several kids at the frat house yell their agreement.

  If outside is crazy, inside the frat house is wild, filled with young, sweaty bodies gyrating to music so loud it’s rattling the windows. Everyone has large plastic cups filled with a red liquid. Some people are smoking. Couples are making out. My cheeks feel hot and my eyes water.

  This place is like nothing I’ve ever known. It’s harsh, sordid, and raucous. The noise, the brilliant colors—it all makes my head spin, and my heart racket against my chest.

  It’s obvious how naïve I really am. I had no idea people did stuff like this. Living with my aunt and uncle was fine; they took care of me, gave me affection, but I was also homeschooled, kept in a pampered prison. Up until this moment my only social life was therapy sessions, piano recitals, and a yearly visit to the tattoo parlor.

  The atmosphere around me is everything I never imagined. And I think I might like it.

  “Come on, let’s get drunk and do something stupid,” Gina says excitedly.

  I follow her, trying hard not to run into anyone, but it’s difficult. People are everywhere. Gina moves ahead of me, her lithe body sliding around people like they aren’t even there.

  In the living room is a ratty green couch. Around it is a lot of commotion. People cheering. Bewildered, I stop to watch. A guy kneels on either side of the couch. Two girls sit down. The guys tilt the couch back and two more guys pour white liquid down the girls’ throats. Students are chanting: “Go. Go. Go.”

  A couple of seconds later the guys on either end of the couch tilt the girls back up. The girls look flushed, their eyes glassy. Giggling, they wobble as they stand and stumble away. Two more girls take their places and the guys repeat the process.

  If that’s what Gina means about couch shots then she can call me Maddelena for as long as she wants. I turn away, looking for my roommate, and she’s in my face, two cups of the red liquid in her hands.

  “Here you go, Maddelena.”

  I take the cup from her and sniff. Orange, lemon, and lime chunks are floating on top. It smells like gasoline mixed with citrus. “What is it?”

  “It’s called Jungle Juice.” She tips the cup and chugs down the whole thing, takes out a piece of fruit, and bites the fruit off the rind. “Ahh, this stuff is good. Try it.”

  I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip. It burns all the way down, but in a good way. It’s sweet and painful. As though it’s telling me to enjoy the scorching. And I do.

  I pull the cup from my mouth, and look at Gina. My eyes are wide with surprise. “It’s good, right?” Gina asks with a knowing smile.

  “It is,” I say, taking another drink, this one larger than the first. My insides warm and open and relax and sigh all at the same time. I chug down more.

  “Welcome to the best part of college,” she says, touching her cup to mine with a plastic clink.

  I pull the cup from my mouth but don’t say anything. My mind is reeling. It’s as though I’ve been waiting my whole life for this. And suddenly I want more, more, more.

  Two guys stumble into Gina’s back and she falls forward into me. Jungle Juice from my glass spills down the front of my shirt.

  “Great.”

  Gina snickers, brushing a piece of fruit off my chest.

  “Not funny,” I say, but for some reason my body disagrees and a gurgle of laughter escapes my throat.

  Gina winks. “I need a refill. Want one?”

  “Hell yeah.” My fingers cover my mouth. I’m shocked. Where did that voice come from? So full of excitement. Happiness even. Definitely not me. At all. Swallowing down another giggle, I say, “I’ll meet you back here. I’m gonna wash this off.” I point at the red juice staining my shirt. It’s ruined, but I don’t care. There’s a low furnace, warm and lovely, burning in my belly. I’m relaxed, moreso than I ever thought I could be, and I want to explore.

  “ ‘Kay, see ya in a few.” Gina takes my cup.

  The first thing I realize as I walk is I’m stumbling a little, leaning into people. Smiling a lot. Apologizing more. Someone hands me a drink.

  “Thanks.” I gulp it down in three swallows. The liquid wasn’t red and fruity, but amber. My throat, my stomach, each and every one of my veins are on fire.

  My head feels heavy and light at once.

  It’s freeing.

  No more pain. No sadness.

  I forget for a moment what I was doing. What was so important that I left Gina and the fruity drinks? I think.

  “What’s on her shirt?” A girl asks, pointing at me.

  “I think she puked,” someone answers.

  I look down at my shirt and remember the red stain. Like my heart is bleeding.

  “I spilled,” I say, laughing. “Do you know where there’s a bathroom?”

  I’m bold, unencumbered, and ready to make friends with the world. A giant weight has lifted. So my parents died. I need to move on. It’s been seven years. No amount of depression will bring them back. As my shrink says, “Accept what you cannot change.” That’s what I’ll do. Experience all life has to offer. Maybe this is what my aunt meant when she told me to live a little. I didn’t need tattoos but alcohol mixed with punch, and chunks of fruit floating on top.

  “That way,” the girl smirks, rolling her eyes.

  I don’t even care. “Thanks,” I respond, waving.

  When I find the bathroom I grab hold of the handle and try to turn. It’s locked.

  A girl pushes my shoulder. “Hey, there’s a line.”
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  I glance at her, and see she’s pointing at a group of girls leaning against the wall. It seems to go on forever.

  “Oh, sorry.” But I’m not deterred and decide to see if there’s a kitchen. There should be. This is a house. I spot an entry with swinging western doors and push my way in.

  It’s the kitchen all right. There’s an island with pots hanging above it. To the left is a microwave, a stove, and cupboards. Straight ahead is the sink, but it’s occupied.

  A couple is having sex. The girl’s ass is situated on the edge. The guy is standing, his pants around his ankles and her legs around his hips. They’re moaning, saying things, words that make my face heat and blister.

  “Sorry,” I say, but either they don’t hear me or they don’t care, and I’m not waiting around to figure it out.

  A delicious ache spreads low in my belly. Seeing the way they were so into each other, lost in the moment. I can’t help but wonder what that must be like.

  At the end of the hall is a set of stairs, and I climb, still thinking about the pair, my body singing with hunger for something I don’t understand. Aunt and Uncle Martin weren’t exactly forthcoming on the “birds and the bees” front. They gave me the basics, methodically and without emotion. Then they played me a video of a woman having a baby. It was horrific, full of blood and goo. If they were trying to keep me from being curious, it worked. But as my thighs and knees quake with need, I get the sense there must be more.

  At the top of the stairs is a long hallway, several closed doors on each side. I’m thinking maybe I should forget about cleaning my shirt and go find Gina. Get more Jungle Juice and maybe try a couch shot after all. But as I’m debating, I’m walking, and open a door.

  The room is full of smoke and a strange smell. Two guys are sitting on the lower bed of a set of bunks, holding a python. It must be ten feet long. Its slithery body is trying to coil around one of the guys’ thighs. A couple of girls are in chairs across from them. They’re laughing. One girl passes a pipe to the guy getting his leg throttled. He takes it, inhales, and holds his breath. The girl across from him stands and places her lips on his. As he exhales, he rubs one of her breasts over her shirt.

  They notice me and the guy whose thigh isn’t being strangled says, “Come on in.” He gives me a lopsided grin, showing off a dimple.

  “That’s okay.” I close the door and head down the stairs. My sticky shirt is going to remain sticky—at least until I get back to my room.

  This house reminds me of a fun house at a carnival, and it’s exhilarating. Every step, every turn is filled with strange and thrilling horrors.

  I carefully make my way back to the living room and search for Gina. She’s talking to a couple of guys. They laugh. A coy smirk flashes across her face and she places a hand on each guy’s chest.

  “Gina! Gina!” I wave, but the party is too loud. Moving past people, I make my way toward my roommate.

  Another set of girls is being couch tipped. It’s like a weird ritual. I can’t help but stare. Which is bad, because that means I’m not watching where I’m going.

  I walk into a hard body.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice low. “Watch it.” He smells like fresh laundry and beer. The kind my dad used to drink.

  Glancing up, I’m about to utter an apology but the words freeze on my lips. His eyes are brilliant blue. Twin glaciers. Bright. Cold.

  “It can’t be.” I step back, falling into someone.

  My heart is pounding against my ribs, dying to break free, to run like wild horses. It’s in my throat. He’s here. Kyle. Right now. In front of me. He’s here.

  Kyle catches me and pulls me against his chest. I know I should twist out of his arms, ignore the way his warm fingers ignite memories I thought I left behind. Instead, I cling to him. We promised each other all of our firsts.

  “Kyle,” I whisper, smiling against his shirt. Smiling like I haven’t smiled in seven years.

  He pulls me from the stranglehold I have on him. I blink and realize what I’ve done. How long was I holding him like that? He’s grinning. “If you’d care to join us, I’m sure we can make room.” Sexy lips form a bigger smile, showing his straight white teeth. Last time I saw him he had braces. Kyle glances to his left and I follow his gaze. Two girls, both with perfect chestnut hair and over-done faces, look at me like I’ve slaughtered a lamb.

  I peek at him. Surprised. What is he asking? Doesn’t he remember me? I take in all of him at once. He’s probably two feet taller than the last time I saw him. Dark, wavy hair, a little on the longer side, hangs in his eyes. He keeps flipping it. His body is lean but muscled, like he plays a sport. He always liked basketball and hockey. His skin is tanned, but then, it always was. His eyes are the same, as is the way his lips form a smile.

  Kyle, I think, my heart smashing itself to pieces. Have I really changed so much?

  Something like recognition flickers in his eyes. “Or it could just be you and me,” he whispers enticingly.

  I blink several times.

  The girls to his right let out a string of expletives.

  My body is saying yes, yes, yes. Another first. With Kyle, the boy I’ve loved since I was nine.

  My mind remembers why I haven’t seen him in seven years. Even with all the alcohol, I snap back to reality. And pull myself from his grasp.

  “Sorry.” I move away.

  The smoky air, the stench of sweat and perfume, and the loud music—it twirls my stomach in knots.

  “Hey,” he calls after me, but I don’t turn back.

  I can’t.

  Kyle

  “Shit!”

  “I can’t believe you did that,” Baby sulks. “It was supposed to be me and you. And Beth,” she adds, glancing at her girlfriend.

  “No kidding. We’re out of here.” Beth grabs Baby’s arm and starts to drag her away.

  “No. I want him.” Baby clutches my arm. “Come on, Kyle. Let’s get out of here. We’ll make you forget all about that girl.”

  I hear Beth and Baby talking. I know Baby is pulling on my arm, but I can’t take my eyes off Maddie.

  “Damn!”

  She looks great. Better than great. Hot. Gorgeous. Amazing. My resolve is gone. I want Maddie. I’ve always only wanted her. And that makes me a complete and total ass. Because she doesn’t want me.

  “Are we going to do this or not?” Beth asks, getting in my face. She’s definitely the more masculine of the two, but still beautiful. The girls look more like sisters than girlfriends.

  “Damn right. Let’s go.” I grab her hand.

  Maddie

  don’t tell Gina I’m leaving. I hope she doesn’t get mad, but I won’t stay a second longer. My mind is reeling with thoughts. Of him. Kyle Hadley. I knew there was a chance he’d be here. This is his hometown. It used to be mine. Part of me is glad. We were best friends and neighbors for the first eleven years of our lives. He was born a year before me. Our parents were good friends too. At least I thought so, until the night my mom and dad died.

  I walk home from a friend’s house. I’d snuck out when my parents’ friends showed up. They were loud and I didn’t like the way my parents acted around them. It was late. Part of me wonders if my parents even knew I’d gone. If they did, they’d be mad. As I come around the corner heading into my backyard, I see two men leave my house by the back door. The light from the back porch is on. I hide, worried it might be my dad talking to one of his coworkers. I don’t want him to yell at me.

  From my spot behind the butterfly bushes I quickly realize it isn’t my dad, but two other men. One carries a gun and whispers furiously at the other.

  “We need to find her.”

  “Fine. I’ll go.”

  Kyle Hadley’s dad is the one holding the gun. He taps the other guy in the chest with it. “I’m counting on you.”

  Hatred pinches his face.

  When they are gone I run into the house. A fierce tightening clenches my chest and I don’t know why.


  “Mom! Dad!” I shout, searching for them. I pass through the kitchen and into the family room. My feet slide to a stop. Mom is on the floor, blood pooling under her. Dad is lying on the floor beside her, his arm draped over her waist. They look like they’re sleeping, except for all the blood. So much blood.

  My mind shuts down. I’m not prepared for the scene in front of me. It can’t be right. Nothing’s happened. Nothing happened. It’s a mistake. I’m dreaming.

  I run back to my friend’s and hide in her pool house. I tell myself everything will be fine in the morning, back to normal. After a while I fall asleep.

  I wake to the sound of barking German Shepherds. With swollen eyes I peek through the glass walls. The police are searching around the pool and heading toward the place where I’m hiding. I open the door, and a hard whiff of chlorine stings my nose. A female police officer sees me and comes over.

  “Are you Maddelena Martin?” she asks tenderly.

  I nod.

  “My name is Mary. I need to speak with you. It’s about your parents. Will you come with me?”

  Any hope I had leaves my body. They are dead. My parents are dead. Kyle’s dad was there with a gun. He killed my parents. I feel a scream well up inside. I keep my teeth clenched in my mouth.

  Two other police officers join her, as well as a lady in a gray suit. She sinks down to her knees so I can see her face. Her features are kind, filled with tenderness. “Do you go by Maddelena or something else?” There’s a light in her eyes, like she knows I hate my name and doesn’t blame me.

  “Maddie,” I say, blinking rapidly.

  “May I hold your hand?” she asks quietly.

  I nod.

  They take me to the police station, and I stay there until my aunt and uncle come.

  Two distinct aromas are scorched onto my brain: chlorine and the smell of donuts. A lady at the police station gave me a custard-filled donut. I ate it, and then puked it up later.

  The police say my parents were killed in a robbery. I tell them they’re wrong, that I saw Kyle Hadley’s dad leave my house. That he had a gun. Their eyes get wide. One says, “You mean Chief Hadley?”