CHAPTER 7
Buddha doesn’t like to pry, but we’re both wondering what you’re doing right now. I’m thinking about your time travel question. Before meeting you, I would’ve said 1966 World Cup. England v. West Germany. But now, I choose two weeks ago. Guo’s shop. But not telling you why. So don’t ask. These lips are sealed. Unless I have an unfortunate encounter with Face Eater and he gnaws them off. Kidding. He’s not my type. Hoping he’s not yours either. Gotta go. Buddha has a juicy secret he wants to tell me about you and your boyfriend.
—M
I shove Marcus’s note deep inside my pocket and wish I was with him and Buddha instead of at Nick’s gate which shrieks when I push it open, then slams behind me. It’s probably best I’m not with Marcus, though, because I’d be tempted to tell him what’s happening with Nick and never hear from him again.
I hesitate before taking the seventeen steps to the towering metal door, but the sooner I get in, the sooner I get out. My plan was to ignore Nick for a day or two while I figure out how to talk to him about the alley, but Baba insisted I run this package to him.
My finger hovers over the doorbell, but the lock clicks and the door swings open.
Holden’s a giant shadow in the doorway, his shirt half tucked in, blond hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes graze my body, lingering on my chest. I fold my arms and he laughs before motioning with his head for me to follow him.
I pause in the marble foyer under a chandelier big enough to pull the roof down on all the shiny things lining the foyer. When Holden brushes against me as he shuts the door, I tense, but follow him down the hallway.
Men’s laughter echoes from the living room ahead, the edges harsh and uncontrolled. I grip my bag strap as I step into Nick’s living room where a white cloud curls above the table and the smell of liquor burns my nose, like breathing gasoline. Poker night.
I pull the envelope from my bag and set it on a table, then turn to leave, but a chair scrapes the floor as Nick’s voice scrapes the air. “There she is. My girl!”
I glance over my shoulder as he sways around the table, stumbles, and reaches for the wall. He weaves toward me, a nauseating wave of alcohol reaching me before he does, but his smile is steady. “Want us to deal you in so you can destroy me like usual?”
My eyes roam towers of poker chips that remind me of my sophomore year when Nick taught me how to play. He brought all my favorite candy instead of money. His eyes were bright and clear back then, shocked when I won every round. They’re cloudy and dull tonight and it’s not even seven.
“I can’t stay.” I shake my head. “Brought something from Baba.” I point to the envelope then turn toward the glossy black door so far down the marble hallway, but Nick grabs the same arm he left his mark on last night, and I wince .
“Wait! Sorry.” He lets go and rubs the spot. “I’ve been out of my mind waiting for you to respond to my calls and texts. Can we talk?”
“I have to go—”
“Please.” His black eyes swirl, unsteady.
Talking to Drunk Nick’s not part of my errand tonight, but I’m afraid of his reaction if I say no, so I nod, rubbing my arm and following him through the room. Chaz is at the table dealing cards, a joint dangling from his lips. His eyes skim mine, and I wish cousins could speak eye language so he’d get my message and distract Nick, but Chaz looks away and Nick grabs my hand, tugging me upstairs.
When he trips on a step, he reaches for the railing, yanking me down with him. My hands land on his back and he twists toward me with a sloppy smile and laughs while his hands fumble around my waist.
“Don’t.” I fling his hands away and if he wasn’t blocking my way, I’d be back down the stairs and out of here. My mind circles back to last night and how he fumbled with me before the police scared him off. What did he think I was going to let him do in the alley? Or tonight?
He regains his balance, pulling me upstairs behind him, and I swear he’s sweating alcohol. I hold my breath.
“Close your eyes,” he slurs when we reach the landing, and even though I’m terrified he’ll try to kiss me again, I close them, my body stiff and jerky. I put my hand out in front of me as Nick pulls me forward until a doorknob twists and I snap my eyes open to see whatever I’m stepping into.
He flips a light switch and a chandelier drips from the ceiling over a giant bed draped in fur and silk and layers of velvety pillows. His arm wraps around my waist from behind. “It’s yours.” His breath in my ear is hot and sticky as my eyes jump around the room. “Ours. You’ll live here during culinary school. Just like we discussed.”
His words stun me, and my mind circles around them until I understand what he’s implying. A month ago, he mentioned that I could move into one of his three houses. I thought that meant one he wasn’t occupying. “I haven’t decided where I’m going to live yet.”
“We’ve known each other forever, Mei Li. It’s time to take the next step.”
“After last night, I’m not sure there is one.”
He takes a step back and looks at the floor, rubbing his neck. “Listen. I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from and—”
“I do. This…” I wave my hand in front of him. “The drinking. It’s changed you.”
He nods. “I know. I’ve just been under a lot of pressure.” He reaches for me, pulling me to him. “I’ll do better, I swear. I’ll give it up if that’s what you need.” He leans in, his nose tracing my cheek and down my neck, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me tight against him. When his lips press against my neck, I stiffen.
“Stop.” I twist out of his arms. “You’re drunk.”
“Come on. It’s you and me, Mei Li. It’s always been that way. So why not make it official?” He pauses, his eyes meeting mine. “Unless there’s someone else.”
Marcus’s face drifts across my mind, and I mentally sweep it away so Nick won’t see it in my eyes. Or so, if we ever talk again, Marcus won’t see how Nick has my future in his grip, and that if he finds out I’ve been talking to Marcus, he could crush it all. No one gets an internship before they get accepted to culinary school. I’m lucky, no matter how I feel right now. Maybe taking this step is the only way to show him how grateful I am.
When his arms wrap around me from behind, I close my eyes and swallow. I have to forget Marcus, focus on Nick. But when his hand fumbles with the button on my pants, I grab it.
“I’m not ready.” My words strain against my throat, my heart thumping like it’s pushing me up and toward the door .
His teeth nip at my neck, and I squirm away and turn to face him. “Stop, Nick.”
He growls a curse. “What’s your problem?” Fire burns away any softness in his eyes.
“I have to go. My parents will wonder.”
“Wonder what? You’re eighteen. I’ve waited long enough.” He grabs me again, backing me against the bed until I fall backward onto the mattress. He hovers above me, pinning my arms to the bed as his lips scratch along my neck.
“I said stop.” I thrash under him, but he jerks me closer, and a sound launches from the hard panic in my chest and out my throat. His lips smother it, but I twist my head away, pressing my lips together.
“I’m tired of your teasing,” he growls, and I strain my neck away from him, adrenaline hurling through me. His fingers scrape under my shirt. “I give you everything you want. It’s my turn.”
I drive my knee into his groin, and he roars and rolls to the side of me. Scrambling to my feet, I dart toward the door, but he grabs me, spinning me around until he trips, and we fall, my cheek smacking the nightstand before we hit the rug.
All sound is muffled as he pins me face down on the rug, red and orange flowers bleeding together as I cup my face, catching up to the moment. Heat swells under my palm and tears burn my eyes as I will the spinning room to steady, my breath rattling out of me. Nick flips me to my back, hovering over me, eyes and hands greedy.
“Nick!” A voice rises and when it breaks into the room, my heart leaps toward it, and my eyes land on Chaz who looks from Nick to me.
“Get out,” Nick snaps, his voice gravel, but Chaz shakes his head and motions over his shoulder, his eyes darting to mine.
“There’s something you need to handle downtown. ”
“Take care of it,” Nick snarls, but Chaz stays in the doorway.
“Above my head. It’s gotta be you.”
Nick curses and pushes himself up, stumbling out of the room. My chest heaves, heart pounding in my throat while I lie still, like any movement will remind him I’m here.
Chaz’s hard eyes pin me to the floor before he disappears, and my muscles surrender, shoulder blades sinking into the rug. My body shakes and I pull my knees to my chest, tears slicing my swollen throat.
A door slams downstairs, rattling the crystals dangling so far above me. There are hundreds of them, but even together, they’re not bright enough to shove away the darkness spreading through me. Nick has never hurt me. He’s brought me gifts. Offered to pay for culinary school and to let me stay in one of his houses. I’ve let him. Almost let him take something I didn’t want to give him.
My palm rests on the screaming welt on my face like I can hide from what just happened on this bleeding flower rug. Feeling comes back into my fingers, and when chairs scrape downstairs, I scramble to my feet, grabbing the duvet for balance.
Scanning the open door, I swipe the back of my hand over my neck where Nick’s mouth left wet spots. I smooth my shirt. My fingers tremble over the button on my jeans and fasten it. I’m in one piece. Everything’s where it should be. Except for my insides.
I snatch my bag off the floor and dart out of the room, gripping the railing as I skim the stairs, jerking to a stop at the bottom where Chaz lounges on a sofa, smoking another joint. A girl wearing next to nothing is curled next to him, her sunken eyes on me while her fingertips trail his stomach. I dart toward the front door, and Chaz’s voice echoes behind me.
“Family or not, I can’t keep bailing you out. ”
I glance over my shoulder, my eyes skimming the girl before meeting Chaz’s. “You’ve never had to. He’s never been like this.”
“Doesn’t matter. He’ll take what he wants, however he wants, because he can. He owns you, me, your parents, the restaurant, our existence in this country. Some of us would like to keep it that way.” He takes a drag and tilts his head back, blowing smoke into the air above the girl. “If you and your parents want to stay here, you’ll do what you gotta do.”
My throat burns as I rush to the front door and hurl myself outside. Towering bougainvillea vines swallow the lights on Nick’s house, and I dart around the corner, promising myself I will never step near him again. I will move out after graduation and tell no one where I’m going. Chef Marco said I’m going places. I can make that happen. Somehow. I can figure it out.
I don’t want the oak bedroom set. I can choose another door.
Hot, swirling anger seeps from under the rock of panic in my stomach, and I clench my jaw and cross my arms, shoving my hands into my armpits to bring feeling back into my fingers. His generosity is not out of the goodness of his heart; it comes with thick, strangling ropes.
A homeless man slumped against a building whistles at me, but I glare at him as I pass, my anger and hatred toward Drunk Nick shooting out of my eyes and striking this innocent person. I turn corners and cross streets, wishing my feet could move faster down steps, across Union Square, and into Chinatown where the smell of chòu dòufu clings to the air. Laughter from a passing group of teenagers stings my ears; it’s the sound of freedom. I don’t care that Baba and Nick’s baba were best friends, or that when Nick’s baba died, he left all his money to Nick who promised to use some of it to help Baba with the restaurant. Nick’s baba snuck us into America, and since Nick helped us stay, he has the power to hold me hostage. I bet that wasn’t part of his baba’s dying wish. Or that Nick should become a monster.
A shiver ripples up my spine, and cold shame creeps through me. I was so afraid of losing my future, I was willing to let him be part of it. And then last night. I kissed him to stop the accusations about Marcus.
I touch the welt on my cheek. Chaz says Nick owns me, but I can’t lose myself to him or the promises he dangles over me.
A hazy neon light blinks TATTOOS, PIERCINGS, READINGS in Mandarin and English and I stop in the orange light puddle under the sign. The haze inside the dingy shop matches the inside of my head and wraps around me, pulling me inside.
A group of people sit cross-legged in a circle around a giant bong, swaying to a song a Chinese guy with dreads is plunking on his guitar. I envy their relaxation. I’ve never done drugs, but I hear they take people away. I’d like to be far, far away.
A bulky, bearded man with crooked teeth smiles at me from behind the front counter which is slathered in stickers. I turn to leave but notice words inscribed on a wooden sign above the door: I hear and I forget; I see and I remember; I do and I understand. Confucius.
“You okay?”
The bearded guy points to my cheek, and I cover it with my hand and nod. “Yes. Fine. I ran into a door. Walking and texting.” I give him a shaky smile.
He grimaces, then motions over his shoulder. “I can get you some ice if you want. Looks pretty swollen.”
“No, I’m close to home.”
“Anything you came in for tonight? It’s kind of slow. Perfect time to get some ink.” He grabs a book on the counter and opens to a page of designs.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Thanks. ”
He nods and smiles. “I was scared my first time too. But look at me now.” He pulls up his shirt sleeves to show arms completely hidden by colorful ink.
The same determination and pride I felt taking the culinary class by myself rises in me. Chef Marco said I was going places. Me. Mei Li Zhang. “Can I get my name tattooed?” I look at my wrist, my ankle, then remember the birds tattooed on that street performer’s neck outside our restaurant a few months ago. No matter how she moved, the birds didn’t budge. I lift my hair, exposing the back of my neck. “Maybe here?”
The guy rubs his hands together. “Absolutely. Show me what you want.” He ducks behind the counter and slides a pen and notepad across the counter toward me.
I clench the pen and draw the characters of my name:
張
美
麗
My name, not Nick’s. A forever reminder that he may be in control of my life, but he’ll never own me.
I slip through the kitchen entrance and tiptoe toward the staircase that smells like trapped fried noodles and fish, hesitating when Baba’s voice murmurs behind the closed office door.
“But where is she?” Mama replies, her voice timid as usual. “Do you know?”
I grip the railing. I should have been home an hour ago, and Baba’s going to—
“That’s not our concern,” Baba hisses. “Tell anyone who asks that Su Ling found a better job. Detective Miller’s come in already.”
The floorboard I’m standing on squeaks, and I race up the stairs and fling myself inside my room, closing the door softly behind me and backing against it. Su Ling didn’t quit, she’s missing. And Baba knows more than he’s saying.
I step to my window and shove it open, cool air swirling in around my frantic thoughts while I wait for my world to steady. But my eyes fall on a Magic 8 ball propped face up on the window ledge beside a note written in black Sharpie and familiar handwriting: Should Mei call Marcus?
My eyes skid to the Magic 8 ball’s answer and I suck in a breath: Signs Point To Yes!