Page 51 of Off Limits

“Melanie! What is it that you want here? Do you think you can waltz in here and walk out with a cheque?”

“It’s not that.” She takes a breath and turns pleading eyes to me. “I need a place to stay, J.L. Jack…things didn’t work out so well with the last guy, and you’ve cut off all my money. I’m stranded.”

“No.” I slam my empty glass down on the bar with more force than is necessary. “Absolutely not.”

“J.L., please. One night. I literally have nothing. It’s this or the streets.”

“Then it’s the streets!” I roar.

“J.L!” She reaches for my wrist, the feel of her hand familiar and strangely recognizable, and the look in her eyes is pure desperation. “I know you’re mad. Of course you’re mad. The way I’ve been acting…it’s crazy. That’s why, I want you to know, I’m getting help. I’m getting help and I’m trying to learn how to say sorry, but how can I ever say sorry for what I’ve done? I shouldn’t be asking you for anything. I have no right. But I’m scared, J.L. Please. One night on your couch,” she points a hand towards the sectional. “One night and I’ll be out of here tomorrow. I’ll call Cathy and stay with her. Please.”

“No.” I pull my hand away and turn my back to her. I don’t want her to see it, but doubt is creeping in. I don’t want Melanie sleeping on the streets. And she’s crazy enough to do it.

“Please.” She sniffles.

I turn back around to see that she’s crying. In the nine years I’ve known her, I have never once seen Melanie cry.

“Please,” she says, wiping each eye quickly, as if her tears embarrass her. “One night.”

A wave of exhaustion rolls over me. I can’t keep fighting like this. And with a sense of futility, a dread that I may never get Melanie out of my life, I surprise myself by conceding.

“Fine,” I say darkly, turning back around and walking out of the room. “One night, and I want you out of here in the morning.”

Danica

I LOWER MYSELF slowly onto the couch, too stunned to know what to do. From downstairs, I can hear my parents’ voices, which means they’re being loud—the house is so soundproof.

Melanie’s here. She’s back. And I have no idea what that even means.

Are we supposed to go back to the way things were before?

The doorbell rings again, and it takes me a minute to even remember that we’ve ordered a pizza. It feels like hours have passed since Melanie arrived at the door. It feels like years since Jean-Luc picked me up from school, his eyes dark with lust, asking to see my panties.

This past month with Jean-Luc has been the best month of my life. For the first time ever, I truly had Jean-Luc all to myself. In the past, Melanie was always on the horizon. Even if she was off on one of her ‘sprees,’ cheating on Jean-Luc with some dirtbag, he was still distracted and distant, his thoughts and energy still pulled in her direction. But this time, creating a naughty, secret world of pleasure together, it’s different. He’s been mine. All mine.

And now she’s back.

I pay the pizza delivery guy and leave the box on the counter, unopened. I can’t bear to keep listening to the muted agony of my parents’ arguing voices, so I go upstairs to my room and sit on the bed.

I’m in shock. It feels as though Melanie has risen from the grave. And just like a real ghost, she hasn’t even spoken to me.

It doesn’t surprise me, not really. Even though there’s this thread I can’t seem to loosen that ties me to her, that says because she’s my mother she should care for me, even though it’s hardly a secret that she doesn’t. I don’t know if she ever did. Melanie cares for herself first, and then for any man who’s willing to give her attention second. I was always an afterthought. Whoever my father is, whatever the circumstances of my birth, I’m quite certain I was an accident. An unwanted consequence for Melanie.

I lie back on the bed and pick up my phone, hoping to distract myself.

What are you up to? I text Christine, but her response deflates me.

I’m with Eric! she replies. Omg I’m so fucking hiiiiigh

Sighing, I drop the phone onto the bed without answering. She’s busy, and more than that, her response is a reminder that we’re just different. Getting high with Eric Kowalski is at the bottom of my list of things that might be fun, but she’s in her glory.

By the time Jean-Luc knocks on the door, I’m staring at the ceiling blankly, hugging Bunners to my chest and fingering the diamond around my neck. I’ve gone beyond boredom and despair to a kind of mindlessness. I’m barely even thinking anymore when his knock jolts me into alert readiness.

“Come in.”

He looks sad and resigned as he walks in, closing the tall door behind him. When he sits on the bed, I can detect his warm, clean smell, and his proximity sends little currents of electricity through me. I stare at his large, tanned hand, fingers splayed over his knee, and focus on the hair at the side of his wrist.

He takes a slow breath before speaking. “You okay, sweetie?”

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