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Instead of forcing the issue, I’d do what I always did—sit through a movie I didn’t want to watch, because even though Jorge said I could pick, he’d say he was sick of whatever I chose and put on one of the stupid action movies I’d endured countless times. Then, after he fell asleep, I’d call a car service to take me home since I knew he’d refuse to get up and drive me there either tonight or before my class tomorrow morning.
I’d lost count of the number of times my still-best friend Jada browbeat me for not ending things with him. Sadly, I ended up avoiding her because I didn’t want to listen to it. My mom was on my ass about him too, saying she didn’t trust him and didn’t want me to bring him over anymore.
That was part of the reason I didn’t end things with him tonight. He’d overheard her. So instead of going through with my own plan, I wound up trying to make him feel less bad about what my mother had said.
Maybe once I graduated, in a couple of months, I’d finally do whatIwanted to do—get out of San Luis Obispo and start a new life for myself. Otherwise, I’d never dig myself out of the rut I felt I was in.
It would be hard to leave Seraphina, but I needed a break from my mom, since all she did was argue with me the same way she had with my dad.
“Your mother doesn’t want you to see me anymore,” said Jorge right before we pulled up to his rental house. I cringed at the look on his face. I’d seen it before on my dad’s and my mom’s. He was pushing for a fight. One I didn’t want to have.
When I didn’t respond, he reached over and pinched my nipple hard enough to hurt.
“Don’t.” I tried to pull his fingers away, but he grabbed my wrist with his other hand.
“You didn’t answer me,” he said, pinching harder.
“I told you earlier, I don’t listen to her. I’m an adult.” While I said the words, I sure didn’t feel like one presently. “Stop it.That hurts,” I said when he tightened his grip and twisted.
“Quit being a baby. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Yes, it does,” I cried, reaching for the door handle.
Jorge let go of my wrist and grabbed my arm. “Okay, okay. I was just playin’ with you. Don’t get so mad.”
“I want to go home.”
“Come inside. We’ll watch our movie, then I’ll take you.”
As mad as I was, I thought about getting out and walking home. However, I didn’t feel safe in Jorge’s neighborhood during the day. Nighttime was worse.
“One movie, then you’ll take me home?” I bit my lip like I always did when I was uncomfortable.
“I promise.”
He always promised, but never followed through.
“I’m experimenting with a new margarita recipe,” he said, handing me a glass after he’d put on the action flick I predicted he would. “Let me know what you think.”
I swirled the ice and liquid with the straw and took a sip.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s okay. Something’s off. Maybe too much alcohol.”
He took it back into the kitchen. “I added a little cranberry juice. See if that helps,” he said, returning and handing it to me.
Like before, I swirled the glass’ contents, then took a sip. “Yeah, it’s better,” I said, eyeing the beer he had in his hand. “Aren’t you having one?”
“Nah, I made it especially for you.”
“What did you put in this?” I asked a few minutes later when my head began to throb and I had trouble focusing on the television screen.
“I told you. Cranberry—”
I felt the glass slipping out of my hand, but I couldn’t get my arm to move fast enough to catch it. Then everything went black.
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