No One Knows Us Here(69)

That night, in the bathroom, I changed into a nightgown Leo had given me. He’d bought it in Paris, he said. It was beautiful, made of white silk. More like a slip than a nightgown, with a lacy bodice and a skirt that swept down to the floor. Not Leo’s style at all. This fact might have clued me in, sent a little tremor of warning through me. I didn’t question it. I just put it on and stepped out into the hotel room, where Leo was waiting on my bed.

“Lie down,” Leo said, patting the space beside him. He had the covers thrown back, so I lay down next to him, on my side, resting a hand on his chest.

“On your back.”

I rolled onto my back and lay with my arms at my sides.

“Good,” he said. “Just like that.” He leaned over and petted my hair, smoothing it around me on the pillow. “That’s right,” he said. “You can close your eyes. Just relax.”

I was tired, still not recovered from that mysterious illness, my France allergy. It felt so good to lie back on those feather pillows, feeling the chilly breeze waft in from the balcony. His fingers traced the contours of my face. I felt him moving down the bed, positioning himself between my legs, and still, I didn’t move. I was half-asleep. If I fell asleep—or pretended to fall asleep—he would stop. I wasn’t up for this. Not tonight.

His hands pushed the nightgown up over my hips, and I groaned like I was in pain.

“Shh,” he said. “It’s okay. Just lie back and relax.”

It was impossible to relax, but I was tired. When he tugged at my underwear, I let him. I even lifted my hips off the bed and let him slip it down, dragging it down my legs.

He spread my legs apart, and I could feel his hot breath. I waited to feel his tongue on me, but that didn’t happen. He touched me with a finger. Tentatively at first, like he was pressing a lump of dough to see if it had risen enough. He inserted a finger into me, and I took in a sharp breath, and he said, “It’s okay,” and I tried to relax.

He stayed like that for a while, his finger inside me, exploring. This was not something that turned me on, particularly. Or at all. I wasn’t sure how it could be doing anything for him, either, but I just let him do it. I considered faking an orgasm to get him to stop.

Finally, unable to stand it anymore, I raised myself on my elbows. “Come up here,” I said.

I peered down at the top of Leo’s head. His finger deep inside me. “Not now,” he said. He withdrew his hand, and I sank back onto the pillows. I closed my eyes and tried to summon that pretend version of me, the one who wanted this. I couldn’t find her anywhere. It would be better if I could just drift away entirely, float out and away from myself, like I used to do when I was little, with Jason. I couldn’t seem to do that, either. This was me. This was all happening to me. My body temperature dropped, and I thought maybe I was going to be sick.

A moment before I almost pushed him away from me, Leo announced that he would be right back and disappeared into the bathroom. I sat up, pulling the nightgown down over my hips. I wasn’t going to lie there spread-eagle, exposed.

He returned, a white towel draped over one shoulder. “Now where were we?” Leo assumed his previous pose and dragged me by the legs back down into a supine position on the bed. He pushed the material of my nightgown back up over my hips. “Just a minute—don’t move.” He reached over to turn on a lamp on the bedside table. I shut my eyes.

“Leo, why don’t we—” I murmured. My voice sounded very faint and far away, like it was echoing down a well.

“Shh. Just lie back. Close your eyes. Yes. Like that.”

I felt his lips and tongue on me, for just a minute. When his fingers found me again, he muttered, as if to himself, “That’s better.”

“Leo—”

“This will be easier if you relax,” he said.

“Easier? What are you—” I don’t know if I said that out loud or if it was just something that went through my head, right before it happened.

“Just lie back!”

I did as I was told, shutting my eyes tight while he touched me. Once again I felt his finger deep inside me. Moving around, tickling my cervix.

The next part happened all at once. The finger came out and then something else went in—something cold and metallic.

“You’re going to feel a pinch,” Leo said.

And then I screamed.





PART TWO





After that time I didn’t murder my stepfather, I thought about it a lot. I thought of how to get away with it. When other girls my age were fantasizing about weekend parties and boys and college applications, I was thinking about all the ways I could do it. I’d run over scenarios and weigh their pros and cons during class when I should have been learning how to graph a parabola or write a villanelle.

Drown him, push him from a great height. Shoot him, stab him, poison him, light the house on fire. Cut the brakes. There were so many ways to do it, but only three ways to get away with it. That’s what I figured.

Make it look like an accident.

Make it look like self-defense.

Never get caught.

I didn’t kill him, but I felt like I could, if it came to that again. It comforted me, knowing what was possible.





CHAPTER 22