Author's Note, 03-18-03: *cries 'cause spring break is over* This chapter, which originally was gonna be part of chapter 10, is why I kicked it up to a PG-13 story, but I dunno, it might qualify for an R. It might be a tad risqué. But I hate being on the R page. And the story started out so innocently. I dunno. Whatever. Anyhow. it's back to school I go, and the next couple weeks are gonna be hectic, so this might be my only update for a little while. Keep my spirits up with reviews, huh? (sigh, I'm so pathetic.)

Chapter 11

A VOICE AS BIG AS THE SEA

*

I lost track of how much I'd had to drink. The bitterness in my mouth didn't seem to matter after a while and disappeared altogether once my head got fuzzy. I couldn't stop giggling. I practically hyperventilated when Ben tripped over Curt's foot and pulled Scott's curtains right off the rod as he fell. There were plenty of distractions to help skirt the tension between me and Scott and Andy, and I welcomed them. I was so relaxed that I barely noticed when Scott and Shelly started holding hands and whispering to each other. Still, I found myself flirting with Andy. I didn't know if it was out of jealousy or because I actually liked him, or if I simply wanted to play Maggie's game. I really didn't care by then.

I didn't question Andy when he slipped off my sneakers and pulled my feet into his lap to massage them, his thumbs pressing deep into the ball of each foot. I curled my toes until they cracked, the loudness of it making us laugh. He'd stopped picking on me, but we kept up a constant banter just for show.

"Don't rub so hard," I ordered, kicking at him lightly till he obeyed.

"And you say I talk dirty." He wiggled his eyebrows like he was Groucho Marx or somebody.

"Queer."

"Skank."

I flipped him off and closed my eyes, cozy enough to fall asleep thanks to the tranquil drowsy feeling washing over me despite Janis Joplin in the background, hollering to come on, come on, come on, come on and take another little piece of her heart. I tried to sing along, mostly flubbing the words and sounding more hammered than Miss Janis probably was at Woodstock.

"Didn't I make you feel- hmmmhmm, you were the only man," I hummed softly. "Break another little bit of my heart!" I wailed during the chorus and wondered if Scott was listening. Had he ever told Shelly she had a sweet voice?

I suddenly wanted to scream so hard I'd get hoarse and not be able to sing anymore. Ever. Maybe that's why Janis carried on the way she did. Maybe she wanted to destroy all that was in her grasp, the good and the bad. Maybe she knew the curse of clinging to the good and forever watching it slip through your fingers was worse than continuously dwelling in the bad. I started to doze off as the drum pounded out the anger - Janis's and mine.

"Oh no! It's one o'clock!"

I awoke with a jerk and arched my neck so my head was tilted back far enough that I could look at Shelly upside-down. For a minute, I thought she meant 1 in the afternoon and that I was late to meet up with my dad and Eric at the hospital. I was ready to grab my shoes and run, but then I saw that it was dark outside Scott's curtainless window. I squinted at her, irritable that she'd disturbed me for no apparent reason, other than to do a sucky impression of a cuckoo clock.

"And still no Santa...?" Scott tried.

Shelly pushed at his chest and giggled cutely. The slut.

"I was going to surprise you right at midnight. Y'know, for Christmas. But I lost track of time," she explained.

"Surprise me with what?"

"Well, you know how I said I was just back for a visit? That's not entirely true."

"I knew it. You're hiding from the mob," Andy chimed in, but everyone ignored him.

"For the past few months I've been circulating that demo tape you sent me and trying to pull some strings with people that know their way around the music industry. I met a great guy named Larry who really knows his stuff. I didn't hear from him for a while, though, and I didn't want to keep calling and pestering him," she digressed. "But then last week he got in touch with me. Said he had good news. One of the big shots at some record company was really impressed by what he heard on the tape and he would, and I quote, 'love to hear more.'"

Through bleary eyes I watched Scott as Shelly's story unfolded. His face shone the more she went on, until finally he looked like someone had turned a lamp on inside him. I couldn't help but smile, and I hated myself for putting the worry lines around his mouth, though they were gone now anyway.

"He wants another tape?" Scott asked, astonished.

"Not just a tape." Shelly swatted his arm, as if that would clarify her point. "He wants you. Not 'wants you' wants you. Wants to see you," she said, probably to beat Andy to the possibility of twisting her words for a joke. After so long he kind of had a way of getting into your head and making you think like he did. "In his studio. I came home to give you the news and to bring you back to California with me. Assuming you want to go, of course."

I had trouble wrapping my brain, cloudy from the booze, around that one. Of course Scott didn't want to go. He had a life here. His band, his apartment. Me. But as I looked to him for his reaction, the truth hauled off and punched me in the stomach, as it had a habit of doing lately. I evaporated right out of his world- if I had ever really been in it to begin with.

"Hell yes, I wanna go!" he cried, and then everyone was on their feet and talking at once. Andy shoved my feet from his lap with such force that I almost rolled off the futon. The beer he'd rested against the cushion and his thigh tipped over, but I didn't realize it until I felt moisture spreading through the back of my pants, starting to seep into my underwear. It was slimy, made my clothes prune up and stick to my skin when I moved. It reminded me of when I was really little and used to wet the bed. I had vague memories of hiding soiled pajamas at the very bottom of the hamper during the wee hours of the morning. It had taken Maggie forever to figure out why I was always wearing mismatched tops and bottoms when she came in to wake me.

"Son of a bitch," I mumbled, groping for the leaking bottle, which was pretty much empty by the time I got to it. I placed it on the coffee table, where it should have been in the first place, and stood up to brush at the seat of my jeans like that would dry them off. They were soaked and I was sure that if I hadn't already reeked of alcohol, I sure as hell did now. It was in me and on me, and even though it was loathsome, it was also pleasant, because I knew the dull ache in my heart would have grown unbearable without it.

There was a loud thump, followed by peals of Shelly's tinkling laughter, pricking at me like a thousand tiny needles, and I glanced up to see that in the middle of their drunken celebration dance, the happy group had gotten tripped up on Scott's bean bag. Andy lay at the bottom of the pile of human bodies, groaning. Margo and Pete had retired to the bedroom long ago, unaware they'd escaped being crushed just now. I decided it was time for me to slip away as well. Not only did I want to change into dry clothes, I wanted to be someplace where I wouldn't have to watch Scott rejoice because he was leaving. And in the morning, maybe I wouldn't look back when I left with my dad. Maybe I could learn to walk away from people without a second thought too.

I found my shoes but carried them instead of putting them on. Even so, my plan to sneak to the door unnoticed was a miserable failure. I stumbled clumsily, like I was walking on stilts and losing my balance. I kept throwing my arms out every few steps to steady myself. Scott, Shelly, Andy, Ben, and Curt were all looking at me when I paused from my struggle with the two suitcases that seemed to have doubled in weight since Scott and I'd brought them over earlier.

"Where ya goin'?" Scott asked, excitement still in his voice.

"I-- I'm gonna just go stay in my apartment," I tried to say quickly. My tongue didn't want to cooperate, got twisted up in the words. And I felt like my head was inside a fishbowl. "My pants got wet," I added, squirming uncomfortably just at the mention of it. It was right up there with the icky feeling of stepping in water when you had on a clean pair of socks; that aggravating unevenness of one dry sock, one wet. It grated on my nerves.

"Oh, well you can come back after you change," he said, helping Shelly to her feet and slapping Andy's hand away when he acted too helpless to get up by himself. "If you're ready to get some sleep, I'll go clear Pete and Margo outta my room?"

"No thanks." I don't know what got into me. My mouth took on a mind of its own as I opened the door and hobbled backwards a few steps, a shoe tucked under both my armpits and a suitcase in either hand. "I'm sure you and Shelly will need it later. Have fun. And don't worry about driving me to the hospital tomo-- today. I'll call Jim-- my dad for a ride." I hefted the load I was beginning to lose my grip on and started down the hall after telling him, "Bye."

"Wait," he called, but I kept going. I felt like I was walking up an escalator that was moving downward, getting me nowhere fast. I'd barely made any progress by the time Scott's hand caught me by the arm and I dropped a suitcase.

"Leamme alone," I said, shaking him off. I didn't want to turn and look him in the eye, but he forced me to. The confusion I saw there only increased my defiance. He didn't even know why I was acting this way. He didn't understand me at all. I cursed myself for being naive enough to believe there was some kind of special connection between us. Stupid, stupid child.

"What's going on? Are you mad about something?" he questioned, baffled.

"Duh!" I spat with about as much sarcasm as I could muster. It felt awful to treat him this way, but I was already filled up with so much awful that it didn't seem to matter anymore. If I was able to impart to him some of the hurt I'd been feeling all evening, so be it. Never in my life had I been this prepared to inflict emotional pain. Even Maggie at her lowest couldn't possibly feel as mean as I did at mine, I thought. "That's the shittiest party I've ever been to. Your friends are assholes. And if I have to look at you and Shelly hanging all over each other for one more second, I'm going to barf. That'd really kill my buzz. That's why I'm leaving. Go enjoy California with your little movie star."

He was stunned at first but recovered quickly, like it was just a nonsense tantrum I was throwing and he planned to be understanding in spite of it. "Nightingale-"

"Stop calling me that," I snarled. "My name is Abby."

Normally with so much anger raging around in me I would have started shaking, but I wasn't now. Or if I was, I didn't notice. I felt strong, like I could say anything, do anything. I didn't have to be meek and tell him everything was fine like I usually would have. It was such a release, such a heavy load off of my shoulders. I smirked, waved at him and Andy, who was watching solemnly from the doorway, and headed for my door again, only one suitcase still in tow.

"Abby, don't do this. At least take your-"

"Piss off!" I hollered, loving how it came from way down deep, thirteen years worth of shouting stored up to let loose right at that moment. It echoed through the hall, bouncing back to me, inviting me to hear the marvelous fury of it again and again. I hoped everyone in Scott's apartment heard it, I hoped it woke Mr. Goran from a sound sleep. I hoped my mother, wherever she was at this early hour of Christmas morning, felt it vibrating and tingling in her bones till she quaked.

Getting my key in the lock was tricky. I heard Andy tell Scott he'd take care of the suitcase, so I left the door open when I finally got in. Scott, I was pretty certain, would not follow. Carelessly, I dropped everything where I stood and flipped on the light. I kicked my shoes aside as I went over to the couch and flopped down on it, glad to have something more solid than my legs underneath me.

"That is the finest reenactment of The Exorcist I have ever seen. Do you spew pea soup too?"

Flat on my back, I turned my head to glare at Andy. "Put the suitcase down and get out."

"Sheesh, why you attacking me?"

"'Cause I hate you," I said bluntly, closing my eyes to make him go away. There was a silence and then the sound of the front door shutting. Wow. It worked. I smiled to myself, but my triumph didn't last long. The couch cushion by my feet sagged with a weight that hadn't been there before and when I lifted my head to have a look, Andy was seated comfortably in the spot where Eric always sat. I sighed.

"I think you're swell," he mocked, grinning at me like the creepy Cheshire cat from Wonderland; the one that used to give me the willies. I thought about asking Andy if he could stand on his own head. Picturing it made me laugh and he just assumed he was winning me over. "There ya go. Now come sit on Andy Claus's lap and tell him what you want for Christmas."

"Oh geez," I said, groaning as I dragged myself off the couch like I was about 80 years old. There was something odd in him sticking around this way and I figured he might leave if I kept busy. "You are a sad, strange little man."

I had to walk past him to get anywhere, but he caught me by the belt loop of my pants and pulled me down onto his lap. Hooked and reeled in, same as a fish. Would I be gutted next?

"Then why've you been flirting with me all night?" he asked, his voice thick as maple syrup and the softest I'd heard it since we'd met. His finger drifted across my cheek, giving me the shivers, and I resented that he knew so well how to make my body react to the slightest touch, whether I wanted it to or not. I looked at him close-up, trying to see if his eyes were as pretty as Scott's, but they were hidden by his eyelids as he stared down at my mouth.

"I wasn't," I lied, no more believable than if I'd tried to convince him I was president of the United States. We were so close I could see the patches of tiny freckles that were peppered along his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose, and the ones at his temples that almost disappeared behind his rust colored hair, like they were trying to escape from his face. Scott didn't have freckles. "I--"

My lips were still parted when Andy kissed me. I thought maybe I should close them, but it quickly became clear that he didn't want me to. So I kept them open, along with my eyes, curious enough about this new territory I'd entered to let him guide me through some of it. I thought about the mouths of the different boys I knew - Howie's, firm and taut with concentration when he played lacrosse; Scott's, soft and flowing as he sang - and how I'd never imagined any of them feeling the way Andy's did, slippery and rough and pushing against mine with such eagerness that I wondered if he'd ever actually kissed anybody before. His lips weren't careful like Scott's had been on the back of my hand that day we sang together. I squeezed my eyes shut real tight and told myself this was the same, this could be like kissing Scott, but it didn't work. Scott wouldn't have put his hands on either side of my head so I couldn't pull my face away. He wouldn't be leaning me against the arm of the couch to keep me even more confined.

I grabbed Andy's wrists and pried at them until he got annoyed and let me come up for air. "That hurts," I said, the words muffled as I dried my lips on the sleeve of my shirt and frowned when I realized my lipstick was probably wiped off by now. I wanted to spit and get the taste of him out of my mouth.

"Quit struggling so much then. You're tense. Loosen up," he instructed, rubbing at my shoulders too hard.

"No. I wanna go change my clothes. I'm wet."

"Well, then we're off to a good start," he murmured huskily, kissing at my ear and not letting me move from his lap. I didn't know what he meant, only that his breath seemed to get hotter when he said it and I thought it might burn me if he kept going.

"Huh?" I asked to distract him.

"Playing dumb now?" Andy snickered into my neck, taking away the mystery of how it would feel to get a hickey. I knew I shouldn't let him, but it was as overwhelming and intoxicating as the liquor had been. Harder to resist the longer it went on. I didn't notice where his hands were anymore. At least not until I felt them exploring the bare skin of my back. "Don't be a tease," he said when I reached around and tugged them from underneath my shirt. He put them there again and I braced myself for his discovery that I didn't wear a bra. But he didn't say anything. Just worked his lips slowly up to mine for another kiss, less aggressive this time.

One of Maggie's paintings that hung on the wall caught my eye, the colors seeming to explode right off the canvas, pinks and greens and purples swirling all around me, washing over me in waves, blocking out the rest of the world and my already altered conscience. I gave in to what Andy wanted, no longer able to distinguish between lust and revulsion. With him they were interchangeable. I concentrated on why his hands disappeared for a minute. Something unzipped. I closed my eyes when we had a short-lived tug of war for my hand and he won, lowering it towards him. I went hollow. Mechanical.

And then her voice filled me up. At least my ears.

"What in God's name is going on in here?" my mother shouted.

I hadn't even heard the apartment door open, so I thought maybe I was just imagining things. But Andy's panicked reaction told me it was real. Our lips made squishy noises when he pulled away. I didn't dare look over my shoulder to see what he was gaping at. I already knew. She was tiny and dark-haired and ready to spit nails.

"Abigail Wyczenski," she barked, making the fine hair on my arms go erect, standing at attention for the drill sergeant, "if you're not off of him in five seconds..."

I scrambled to the other end of the couch before she could begin the countdown to my death and curled myself into a ball, my knees hugged tightly to my chest. She had snatched up one of my shoes from the floor and I ducked my head when she heaved it, stiffening for the impact. It took Andy's loud "Ow!" for me to realize she'd thrown it at him. He was on his feet immediately, clutching at the front of his pants to keep them from falling down around his ankles. My other shoe bounced off his chest and somersaulted wildly to the floor, flipping a few more times, like it was prepared to run too. I would have laughed, but I wanted to remain among the living.

"Get the hell out of my house!" she bellowed. I thought she might throw a suitcase next if Andy gave her the chance, but he didn't. He charged for the door. Didn't even give me one last look. She shoved him as he approached and he zigzagged, crashing into the doorjamb. I watched him grab his shoulder and call her a crazy bitch, then narrowly escape having the door slammed on him in return.

This was the type of drama I was well acquainted with. Except in the past it had always been one of Maggie's lovers being exiled in that fashion. I couldn't suggest pigging out on ice cream and cookies and watching sappy old romance flicks to recover from this. I had no idea what to say or do, my previous experience with her outbursts useless to me now. So when she turned to me seething, I said the first and only thing that came to mind.

"Welcome home."