BOUNDARIES: A Louisiana Love Story (Post 12)

Chapter 6: Luke

Is it not written that my house will be called a house of prayer for all nations? But you have made it a den of robbers.

Mark 11:17

I sleep the entire next day away to avoid it and then find myself at Humphrey's, a popular local dive. Neither fancy nor flashy, it’s a place where people can drop all pretenses. I sit on the wooden bleacher-like seat. Its three levels wrap around the room, only stopping to allow for the bartender’s station and the restrooms. The design forces me to sit by people I don’t know, but also allows me to blend with the crowd. We sit like fans filling every possible space. I know that if I get up I’ll lose my spot, so I stay.
     Faces laugh next to me and bodies dance around me yet they exist in a different realm. I’m an alien. While they laugh with their friends, celebrating the New Year, rejection spreads through me. My stubby fingernails break off in my mouth one by one as I look around the room. A tight, sharp feeling begins to squeeze its way toward my throat. The rejection I’ve tried to ignore for years is materializing into something real and frightening. It rears its ugly head like the sick demons my mother so graciously showed me. My head lowers momentarily and then shoots up as the beast she said was always there shoves its way into my mouth. I hold my chin high and take a deep breath. The demon’s head hangs low because it doesn’t quite fit into mine; the back of its neck is tight against the back of my throat. I feel its eyes glaring into the backside of my youthful lips. An undeniable pressure forces them open.
     I know then what I have to do. I can have any guy in the crowd. I’ll choose one and he’ll notice me. He’ll dance with me. He’ll do anything I want him to do. I’m that attractive, that beautiful.
     Proving my theory will feel good and I need to feel good.
     I’ve felt bad for a long time.
     With the decision made, the demon’s head pops into my brain like a bubble. His eyes become my own and I feel delightfully evil. His spindly legs and feet press against the tops of my legs and what is in between. My straight back holds up the demon’s head as it slowly turns from one side of the room to the other. After checking every face and every set of eyes, I find my target. He’s tall with curly blond hair, and he’s the best looking guy there. I stare at him until he looks at me.
     Screw Matt.
     Within minutes, the curly blond comes toward me. He looks as if he’s found a treasure, which is exactly what I want. He thinks the gleam in my blue eyes is merely sex appeal.
     “You’re starin’ at me,” he says with a drunken slur. “Is there somethin’ I should know?” He looks down at himself. “Is my fly down or somethin’?” His sleaziness makes me sick. A chunky gold necklace hangs around his neck.
     I smile and stare at his crotch. “No, you’re just nice to look at.”
     “You wanna dance?” he asks.
     My eyes travel up his body. “Of course,” I say, smiling.
     The band is taking a break. Chrissie Hynde sings about how special she is and her words become my own. I feel sorry for women who never get the opportunity to feel like I do at that exact moment. The curly blond puts his hands around my waist. He is attractive but he’s only my New Year’s Eve experiment. This proves I don’t have to be alone. I realize I’m acting like a slut—as defined by all the people I know. I also know that I don’t care anymore and that’s an even colder reality.
     “What are you drinkin’?” he shouts over the music.
     “Just beer.”
     “What kind?”
     “It doesn’t matter. I’ll take whatever you wanna give me,” I say, winking. “What’s your name anyway?”
     “Luke ... like in the Bible.” He smiles.
     The irony of it makes the demon in my head cheer. “Forget the drink,” I shout. “Why don’t we get out of here?”
     “They’re givin’ away free bottles of champagne when you leave. We can have our own celebration.” His arm is already around me, pushing me toward the exit.
     The moment I walk into his apartment I begin to feel uneasy. On the television, bulky, sweaty wrestlers scream out the horrible things they plan to do to each other. A guy sits on the couch smoking and drinking a beer. His shabby clothes and longish greasy hair, along with the smell of the place, tell me he’s a pothead. He looks sleazy and he looks at me as if I’m sleazy, too.
     “That’s Jim, my roommate. Just ignore him. I’ll get a corkscrew and we can disappear.”
I stand at the center of their small living room expecting Jim to get up, but he never says a word and never moves. Looking around, I can tell their apartment is not the home of two educated, up-and-coming young men. It smells like a rock concert. Instead of textbooks, there’s an open Hustler on the floor. A stereo and a set of huge, oversized speakers dominate the room. I had accurately judged my prey but the scene surrounding me is foreign and frightening. I fear that I’ve made a mistake and wonder how I can get out of it.
     “Let’s go,” says Luke.
     “Where are we goin’?” I ask.
     He smiles. “To my room. Where did you wanna go?”
     I suddenly miss Becca.
     There’s no use arguing or trying to run. He’s right; there’s nowhere else to go. I’m a prisoner of my own stupidity.
     Once in his bedroom, he pours champagne into a beer mug and shoves it toward me. I wish I could bite his head off like a praying mantis. Then I wouldn’t have to look at him while he has his way with me. In the end, I would chew him up, swallow him away, and never see him again. But I know he’d still be inside me.
     I’d felt used before. Every time it happened, I created a reason why it doesn’t count. As Luke sits on the bed, expecting me to follow, it strikes me that I always know it’s happening--yet I never stop it. It humiliates me more to think that each guy believes I’m gullible, or worse, just dumb. But I’m not dumb. I’m a bright girl.
     I sit down on the bed and he pulls at my clothes, I realize the situation has changed. Luke doesn’t know he was my target. In his mind, I’m the target. The demon in my head celebrates a sick win as Luke turns me onto my stomach and pulls me to my knees like a dog. He doesn’t care if I’m not ready for him. He does what he wants.
     “I bet you like that. Is this what you came for?”
     I moan as his brand of pain fills me. I don't speak and can't see his face in the dark. All I think about is Matt.
     “It was nice not meeting you. Come again,” his roommate says when it’s over and I walk through their apartment clutching the half empty champagne bottle. Luke was apparently too tired to walk me to the door.
     The free alcohol is all I had left. I roll down my car window and blast Madonna’s voice into the freezing air. I drive through the icy city trying to erase the night, hoping to find a reason why this time doesn’t have to count either.
     As the champagne pours into me, its fizzle makes me feel better but the feeling dies too soon. The demon has summoned his family and they’re moving in. Every guy who ever rejected me stands before me, laughing and telling his friends about me. Having my naiveté taken advantage of was much less painful; that only happened once. The subsequent pain came from my silence as I allowed the others to crush my spirit. It’s my fault because I could have stopped it.
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More of Chapter 6 coming this week.

To find out what BOUNDARIES is about and start reading at the beginning. go here.

BOUNDARIES is Penelope Przekop's first novel. It's a work of fiction based on true events. Since writing BOUNDARIES, she has completed two other novels. ABERRATIONS was published by Greenleaf Book Group in 2008. CENTERPIECES is currently being considered by several publishers. Penelope is working on her fourth novel, DUST.