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This can’t be happening.
She closed her eyes remembering the first time she saw him. It was fifth grade and she thought he was about the most handsome guy on earth. Her crush lingered though no one knew, not even Debbie, but then in their eighth-grade chemistry class they ended up paired on a microscope. The way his eyes fell upon her and the touch of his hand as he helped her with the microscope had her swooning. He asked her to a football game and she all but fainted. She was nothing, ridiculed and talked about like dirt because she was goth and he was tall and athletic, quarterback of their home team. He had a way about him and integrity to boot, or at least she thought so until she broke the news that she was moving. That’s when he began pressuring her for sex. On two occasions she had almost let him go the whole way. Now, seeing him with Brandy, better known as “Hot Lips Smith”, she wondered if maybe she should have given in to his needs.
“I made you a drink, party girl,” Mickey Dye, head geek and smartest guy in their class said, drawing her from reverie.
“Thanks, Mickey, you’re a true gentleman,” Donja said with a forced smile.
Someone turned on some music and Donja could instantly feel the vibrations from the bass. She raised the drink to her lips and sipped, tasting the rum. She saw Debbie and Gina, giggling with Theresa and Marilyn near the crashing waves and it bothered her, not that they were getting tight, but because she hated that they would have each other and she would have no one.
I can just see it now, a new school. A goth freak thrown to the sharks.
“Whew!” she sipped her drink, fighting one emotion after another. She listened to the laughter and then a stealthy glance to the shoreline revealed Kevin and Brandy, knee deep in the crashing waves. Kevin peeled his shirt over his head and it took all her willpower not to go to him, beg, plead, give him what he wanted. She bit at her lip, eyes locked as Brandy raised her T-shirt to reveal a skimpy bikini scarcely covering her full breast. A wave of heat rose from her chest, scorching her in misery. She debated her next move, but before she could think, Kevin slid his hands to Brandy’s waist then cupped her hips, pulling her tight. Donja’s gut clenched and try as she may, she couldn’t pull her eyes away and then, Brandy slid her hands up his chiseled chest to his neck and tangled them in his hair. Kevin kissed her, and as their union intensified, he made love to her with his tongue, practically deep-throating her, his hands all over her.
Impaled, Donja ripped her wounded eyes off their blatant display, turned and fled in a blaze of devastating betrayal. Her heart pounded, tears threatening release. Finding her beach bag, she fumbled nervously for a cigarette, lit it and took a long drag. Suddenly from the side, she felt someone grip her arm and she nearly jumped out of her skin. “He’s just trying to make you jealous so that you’ll give it up,” Debbie whispered. “She’s got a face like a bulldog.”
“And a body most girls would die for,” Donja retorted.
“And that’s why he’s with her, she puts out and you won’t so he’s trying to hurt you, force you to give in.”
Donja rolled her eyes, her throat so tight she couldn’t swallow. “You think?”
“For sure.”
“Too bad,” Donja, scoffed, fury masking her pain. She squeezed her eyes tight. A tear streaked her cheek. She took a long drag on the cigarette and then her eyes narrowed. “It’s not gonna work, I won’t do it, I mean I want to, I want him, but damn this really hurts. I can’t believe that after all we’ve been to each other that he would just throw it away, for what? Sex!”
“That’s it, he thinks he’s got you and that you’ll give in. He knows you love him.”
“Love him,” Donja scowled, her chest so tight it pained her. “I’m not so sure of that anymore and even if I did, I couldn’t touch him right now, I’d claw his damn eyes out.” She took a drag, smoke circling her head. “You know, on second thought, he deserves her,” she lied, hoping Debbie bought it. “And I’m afraid for dear Kevin, I’ll go down in history as the piece of ass that got away.”
Debbie slapped her back with a throaty laugh. “You go, girl!”
“Woohoo!” Someone in the group hollered as several couples began to dance in the sand. Donja turned up her drink and quaffed it down. She took a drag on the ciggy, then snubbed it in the sand. Excitement spread, laughter contagious and as she watched, sipping her rum with the party seamlessly unfolding, she felt completely lightheaded, whiskey and rum dulling the malignant heartbeat which occupied her temples. Amy passed a joint and Donja took a toke fighting her tears. She passed it to Becky, then Rachel and Bernice, the sound of waves crashing in her head. Rick, a guy she had never really noticed for he was a bit of a loner, grabbed her hand and pulled into the dancers. She heard him laughing and looked at him…really looked at him. Not bad, in need of a haircut, but a nice smile. She closed her eyes and tried desperately to get into the music.
“Hell yeah!” Debbie screeched as she and her heartthrob Gary, joined in the fun.
Four drinks later, with time a blur, Donja looked for Rick but he was dancing with Lena. Her hopes of using him to make Kevin jealous faded. She slumped down in the sand surrounded by friends. She eyed them, moonlight illuminating every face. She listened to the laughter and jokes, camaraderie at its best. With heavy lids, she glanced to Gina and Teri giggling with Debbie who was all but wasted, snug in Gary’s arms. Something chilled her soul and it hit her like a ton of bricks. This is it—the big finale. She closed her eyes, waves crashing, sand between her toes.
It’s all over, it’s really happening.
She glanced to the lake, moonlight shimmering on rolling waves and on the horizon, the lights of Chicago were barely visible. She exhaled and in that moment, it hit her that Kevin and Brandy were gone.
That bastard. Two years of commitment, down the drain.
Her tears fell, her tough facade supported by weed and booze crumbling.
Oh Kevin. How could I have been so wrong about you?
She closed her eyes.
My life’s over.
Clues
Within the sprawling metropolis of Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, a black Dodge Charger with a red flashing light navigated an endless sea of traffic. Taking a sharp right off Huron Street, the shiny vehicle came to a halt beside six blue and white police vehicles. Simultaneously, the front doors of the Charger swung wide, like the wings of a raptor into cacophony of car horns, engines and sidewalk chatter. From the driver side, black boots beneath faded jeans swung to the pavement. A man emerged, tall with an athletic build. He moved quickly past a mob of citizens held back by officers as his side kick, a blond haired, blue eyed forensic detective, one of the best in the north, fell in behind. He lifted the yellow police tape cording off an alleyway that separated two three-story brick buildings. Sunlight cast rivets of light off his sunshades as he raised a Sault Ste. Marie police I.D. badge. “Torin Mancini,” he said as he passed by the officers who motioned him on, but stopped his companion.
“He’s with me,” Torin said smoothing his short-cropped beard. He flashed his eyes to the blond Frenchman. “Where’s your badge, Gage?”
“I must have left it in my car,” he said with a thick French accent.
