The Taste of Bells

Somehow, we became a spectacle. It all went to her head too fast. Ricky couldn't keep his mouth shut, gossiping in the boys' locker room and making bets with the other jockstraps on how long it would take him to fuck her.

(The answer was exactly one month, and everybody respectively owed Bobby Lautenschlager twenty bucks by the time shit hit the fan.)

"She kissed a girl? Dude, do you think she'd be down for a threesome?" I remembered hearing one day as we ran laps during gym class. I should've known what was to come, but I was too busy basking in the attention, soaking up the artificial glow that surrounded us as we took part in it all.

Really, it was my fault. I deserved every bit of ridicule, all the stares and whispers in between classes. I was just destined to walk alone in those holy hallways, avoided like the plague. I was foolish to fall into her trap, and it killed me that I was still in love with her even after it all fell apart.

Everyone forgot about me and held her up on a silver platter because what she did was considered cool and rebellious in catholic school. If I weren't so blinded, I would've seen what a sham it was. She dragged me along to the parties she was invited to every weekend, and just like that, we became some exhibition to ogle at. Some grand showcase to be cheered on by all the gross boys getting hard-ons. It was like real life staged porn, only it was just kissing. It was always just kissing, and for some reason, I thought it was genuine. It wasn't.

"I bet you wouldn't do it again," Ricky said to Jade one Saturday night in the quarterback's basement. I was always sitting in the corner, wishing I would disappear.

"Oh yeah?" came that familiar sultry gaze again, making me sick to my stomach, "Watch me."

And then she did it again. Over and over. People would dare her and she never refused the challenge. And I loved it; I relished in it because she was beautiful and popular and I was in love with everything she did. But it wasn't love to her. She only kissed me like that to save herself. They watched us like we were zoo animals because they'd never seen something so foreign and enticing after being brought up in such straitlaced homes. Maybe that was why I got addicted to it in the first place.

It started to spiral even quicker than it started. Other girls had gotten over their initial disgust from the way they were raised and began to line up down the block just to have her suck tequila shots out of their belly buttons. I held in my hurt, telling myself it was just a ploy for attention and desire. But then, if that were true, what did it make us?

And then she finally did it: she let Ricky have it. Her cross caught the light and I felt my heart shatter. I knew I was a goner as soon as she led him up the stairs in whatever rich kid's house we'd occupied that weekend. I heard the bells chime in my head and that was it. She wasn't mine anymore--or even to begin with.

I couldn't look at her after that. She betrayed me and she didn't even know it. I hated sitting on her bed, hearing her talk about him like he was a god, having to listen to every nuance of their intimacy. It should've been us. It should've been us.

"Why did we do it?" I finally asked her. My heart was in my throat.

"Do what?" she asked passively, not bothering to look up from her homework. I swallowed, afraid to say anything. Her pencil stopped moving and she met my gaze. "Do what?"

"Why did we…" my voice shook, "Why did we…do it...all those times…in front of all those people?"

She sighed as if I were a bothersome child asking a menial question. "We were just playing around; you know that. It didn't mean anything."

"It did," I found myself blurting out faster than I could suppress the urge. Blood rushed to my face and all I wanted to do was curl up and die in her sheets.

She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Chloe, you know how boys are, they eat that shit up--"

"But it wasn't just that," I insisted vehemently, instantly cursing my word vomit, "It wasn't-- you weren't--"

And then the weight of the tension crushed me. Her face fell and her eyes widened, forming an expression that can only convey intense realization.

"Oh my God," she said, "You liked it."

I could barely hear her over my thundering heartbeat.

"You're…jealous."

I knew that tone. It was the tone that mocked other girls in our grade, the scathing remark-filled air she'd always had. And it was being used on me.

"I-I'm not--" I started, wishing the angry tears would stop trying to force themselves out.

She barked out a laugh, spiteful and vicious. "You actually think I liked you?"

My mouth was open, but no words came out.

"God, how pathetic," she shook her head, marveling at me, "How fucking sad."

"Jade, I just…"

"You just what?" she demanded, "It was a joke, Chloe! I was never your girlfriend!"

I wish I could've taken back what came out next. I regretted it as soon as I felt the hot, embarrassed tears slide down my cheeks.

"But I wanted you to be."

That's when I realized just how backwards everything was. It was okay to pretend for laughs and manipulation, but when it became reality, it was a crime. It was a cold-blooded sin.

Her face contorted, turning repulsed. "I don't like girls."

The more she insisted it, the less I believed her. If I were wittier, I would've responded, 'Could've fooled me.'

"Jade..." I shook my head, trying not to let my voice crack.

"Don't," she chastised.

"Please," I whimpered, reaching out toward her.

"I said, don't!" her voice rose as she pushed me away so forcefully that I almost fell off the bed. Everything seemed to freeze then, suspended in time as my hand caught in the chain of the cross necklace and ripped it away from her skin. We both stared at it on the floor, glinting in the sunshine coming in from the window. It was three o'clock and I swore I heard the bells echo in my ears despite the stifling silence left from our exchange.

Her mother burst into the room, making me jump. She paused with a concerned look on her face, examining the scene in front of her. "What's going on here?"

I wish I could've hated her for what she did next, but the bells clouded my judgment.

Jade leapt up from the bed and I could practically see her put on a mask. She was about to do what she'd done at all those parties, only this time, it was turned around on me.

She was frantic, disturbed. "S-She…she just…came at me, Mama, she tried to…to touch me!"

"Touch you?" her mother implored, "What do you mean, 'touch' you?"

"She tried to…to k-kiss me!" came the crocodile tears. I had to give it to her; she was a fantastic actress.

Her mother looked livid as she turned to me. "Is that true?"

I was horrified, shaking my head fervently. "N-no, I wasn't--"

"I think you should leave, Chloe."

Her words hit me like a stake through my chest. I was dumbfounded, unable to offer a rebuttal. When I made no effort to move, she was courteous enough to open the door for me and gesture out. I was being exiled.

"Leave," she repeated, "and don't ever speak to my daughter again."

I did as I was told. It wasn't fair, but it was my fault. I shouldn't have let her rope me into all of this. I should've stayed far away and never let the trace of her exist on my lips.

Word spread even faster than it did about the initial chain reaction. It was all fun and games when we were surrounded by drunken teenagers, but once it became a real, tangible feeling, I was a monster. I dragged my own personal anchor everywhere I went as people whispered and stared and snickered at me. It killed me to see Jade on Ricky's arm, glaring at me coldly like I was some kind of human defect.

And somehow, I still loved her.

Somehow, I still stayed awake at night, wishing I was lying in her pink, frilly sheets with the comfort of young Leonardo DiCaprio above my head. I still wished I could hear her fiery laugh and see that half-lidded gaze full of innuendos and pretend it was being used on me.

But it wasn't, and it never would be. So instead, I'd fill my dreams of scenarios of us together, instances where it all worked out in the end, where there was no Ricky Sabo and her mother didn't raise her to be scared of what was different. In my head, it was all perfect. But then I'd wake up and it would start all over again, and I'd think of all the different things I'd say to her if only I was allowed one more breath in her direction.

"It's 3:00 and I'm thinking about the first time you kissed me. I wish you hadn't."

"In another hour, it'll be 4:32 and I'll be regretting all those times I let you use me for attention."

"The sun is about to rise and soon I'll be replaying your laugh over and over in my mind until I go crazy. I wish your mom gave me the recipe for those lemon cookies before it all went to shit."

"Hey, it's 5:26 and I love you. I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.