Safe with Me: A Novel

When Noah pulls up to Jen’s house, the party is already in full swing. There are at least ten cars parked in the circular driveway, and their entire yard is decorated like a cemetery, with rows of headstones scattered across the lawn and plastic skeleton arms looking like they’re trying to claw their way out of the ground. As we pass by a huge oak tree, a screeching bat whips down next to my head. “Holy hell!” I exclaim, ducking and clutching Noah’s long arm.

He laughs and puts his arm around me. “Did the big bad fake bat scare you?”

“Not funny,” I say, breathing a little hard but also relieved to realize the animal isn’t real. I am jumpy, considering this is the first real party I’ve attended in eight years. I didn’t want to tell my mom I’m nervous about it going well, because she’s already wound tightly enough. I don’t want to give her anything more to worry about.

As Noah and I walk up the steps, he keeps his arm hung loosely around my waist. I like the feel of him so close to me—it makes my heart beat fast and my whole body gets warm. I wonder if this is what it feels like to fall in love.

Jen answers the front door, fully decked out as a ghoulish zombie. Her blue-streaked hair is messy with fake blood, her skin is powdered a sickening shade of green, and she wears glowing white contacts that make her look like an actual member of the undead. “Hey, peeps!” she says, welcoming us inside. Her house is not as big as mine, but it’s just as nice, filled with tasteful artwork and fancy furniture. “The party’s downstairs in the rec room. Food, drink, video games. We’re having an Xbox Zombie tournament—winner gets a hundred bucks!”

“Awesome,” Noah says, and we follow her down a long hallway to a doorway leading downstairs to a huge room. There is a pool table, a Foosball table, a dartboard, and an enormous L-shaped couch sitting in front of what has to be a sixty-inch plasma television.

“Where are your parents?” I ask over the loud thump of music.

“Hiding in their bedroom upstairs,” Jen says, laughing. “They’ll check on us in a while, just to make sure we’re not shooting up or having an orgy or something.” I smile, and she gives me a quick, hard hug. “I’m so happy you came!”

I almost tear up when she says this, so unaccustomed to having a friend. Noah sees this and covers for me. “Where’s the food, dude? I’m starved.”

Jen motions over to the huge table by what is likely a second, smaller kitchen in the house. “My mom ordered some chicken pad Thai for you, Maddie. I told her about your gluten thing. Sodas are in the fridge.”

We thank her, and then she runs back to join the group playing Zombie. Noah leads me over to fill our plates. “Sorry I’m such a wuss,” I say under my breath.

“It’s actually pretty cute,” Noah says, piling four pieces of pizza onto his plate. He catches me staring at him, a little slack-jawed. “What?”

“Are you going to eat all that?”

“Yeah.” He grabs a soda and balances his plate on top of it. “I’m a growing boy.” He flashes me a grin, and we go join our friends playing the game.

Over the next couple of hours, I feel the most normal I think I ever have in my whole life. I laugh and eat and play a video game with friends; my boyfriend holds my hand when it’s not our turn, and it suddenly hits me that if my mom divorces my dad, it’s possible I won’t get to keep any of this. I might have to move away and change my name, and the thought of that, the thought of losing all of these cool people, makes me think maybe my mom is right—we should stay where we are. It’s only two years until graduation. And really, if he’s not hurting her anymore, then why should we have to go?

Noah nudges me and snaps me out of my thoughts. “You okay? You’re like, completely distracted.”

I smile at him. “Yeah, fine. Just thinking about what a good time I’m having tonight.”

“Me, too.” He pauses, then tilts his head down the hallway, toward the bathroom and Jen’s bedroom. “Want to take a break?”

I swallow hard and nod, letting him lead me to Jen’s room. No one seems to notice us leave—they’re too caught up in the game. He locks the door behind him, and I turn on the small lamp next to Jen’s bed. Her room is done up in crazy punk rock décor, mostly black and white with odd splashes of neon. “She really likes punk, huh?” I say, nervously pulling the feather boa I’m wearing off and dropping it to the floor.

“I guess,” Noah says, taking a step toward me, looking a little nervous, too, which sort of makes me feel better. His Neo sunglasses are on top of his head, keeping his hair out of his face. He takes my hand and we sit down on the edge of her bed. We stare at each other a second before he leans in to kiss me, putting his arms around me and pulling me close. When he opens his mouth and slips just the tip of his tongue against my lips, I open my mouth, too, a little weirded out by the feel of his tongue on mine. He tastes like Hot Tamales, which he’d been munching on after his pizza.

He runs his hands over my back, then moves them, tentatively, around to my waist and then my chest. I suck in a quick, sharp breath when he touches my breasts. “Sorry,” he says, snatching his hands back to his own lap. “I didn’t mean to—”

Breathing a little hard, I smile. “No, it’s okay. I just . . . well, it surprised me. But it felt good.” I take his hands and put them back on the sides of my waist. Then, keeping my eyes linked with his, I begin to undo the top buttons on my witch’s dress. He quickly glances down at what I’m doing, but then looks back up to me.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, blinking hard and fast.

“I want to show you,” I say, trying to stop my hands and voice from trembling. When the buttons are undone to my waist, I carefully pull the top of the dress down off my shoulders, taking in a deep breath and holding it as my upper body is totally exposed to him. I close my eyes and wait, feeling his gaze move over my skin first, and then . . . his hands, his fingers running over the raised red ridges of my scar. Down the center of my torso and across my waist. His touch is so tender, so careful, it makes me want to cry.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again. And right then, just for that moment, I believe him.

•  •  •

On the drive home a little while later, I keep looking over at Noah, wondering if he’s thinking about that moment in Jen’s bedroom as much as I am. We only kissed a bit more after I showed him my scar, then I buttoned up my dress and we rejoined the party. I didn’t really want to stop—I wanted to do more, to see and touch his skin, too—but I also don’t want to lose my virginity at a random party in someone else’s basement. It seems like it should be more special than that.

“You’re okay, right?” I ask Noah after I tell him the gate code to put in and he drives up to my house. “That we stopped?” I am a little nervous that he won’t like me anymore, since my general understanding of boys is that the only thing they want more of than pizza is sex.

“Yeah,” he says, shooting me a sideways glance as he puts the car in park. “It wasn’t easy though, ’cause you’re smokin’ hot.” I smile and give him a playful punch on the arm. “Ow!” he says, pretending to be hurt. “Violent, too, apparently.”

I look at the clock on the dashboard. “Ten fifty-eight. Way to make my mom happy.”

“Moms love me,” he says smugly.

“Because you’re a brownnoser,” I say, teasing him.

“Whatever it takes to spend more time with you,” he says, and I roll my eyes.

“Oh my god,” I groan. “Total brownnoser.”

We both laugh, and he walks around to open my door for me, holding out a hand to help me out of the car. He doesn’t let my hand go until we’re standing in front of the door, face-to-face. “I had a really great time,” I say, but before he can respond, we both hear what sounds like the shattering of glass.

“What the hell?” he says, but I am already digging through my pocket for my key, my heart working like a jackhammer in my chest.

“My dad” is the only thing I say, and hope he understands. I finally manage to find the key and fling the door open. “Mom?” I call out. “Dad? Is everything okay?” I wait a moment, hearing only a quiet grunting sound coming from the living room. I race in that direction, trying not to slip on the floor in my witch boot heels, Noah following right behind me. Glancing wildly around the room, I don’t see anything except the back of my dad’s head, level with the bottom edge of the bookcase. It looks like he’s on his knees. “Dad!” I yell, but he doesn’t respond.

I run over, and it’s then that I see her—my mother lying beneath him, his hands around her neck. “Get off her!” I scream so loudly it burns the muscles in my throat. I see her bloody face, her arm twisted out from her body at a strange angle. Her eyes are swollen, bruised, and closed. I can’t tell if she’s alive or dead.

“Dad!” I scream again, grabbing him by the shoulders and trying to pull him back. My hands just slip right off him.

“Maddie, don’t!” Noah says, trying to grab me, too.

“Call 911!” I shriek. “Now!” Noah fumbles to get his phone out of his back pocket just as I grab for my father’s arm again, trying to make him let go of Mom. There is blood bubbling out of the corner of her mouth—that means she’s still breathing , right?—and I have to fight back the vomit in my own. My dad continues to grunt, squeezing her neck, until I finally haul back and start pummeling his head and face with my fists, trying to beat him off her.

The punch comes out of nowhere, smacking me hard across the face. I fly backward, seeing stars, and land with a hard thump against the edge of the coffee table. “Maddie!” Noah screams. “Please, hurry. He’s going to kill them!”

The police, I think, woozy from the impact to my cheek. He’s talking to the police.

“You little liar,” my father says, spitting out the words. Before I know what’s happening he has rolled me over and hit me again, this time on the other side of my face. There is a wash of coppery blood inside my mouth. I can’t run—I can’t even move. My eyes flood with tears, and all I can think of is that this man—a man who is supposed to love and protect me, who is supposed to take care of his wife and daughter—might just beat us to death.

I look over to Noah, who has dropped his phone and grabbed one of the pokers from the fireplace on the other side of the room. He charges at my father and slams the poker down hard across the top of his back. Dad falls over sideways, howling.

“Get up and I’ll bash in your skull, you fucking bastard,” Noah says, breathing hard. Dad rolls over, and Noah raises the poker threateningly. “Try me,” Noah says, and my father stops moving. He holds up his hands in a defensive posture—palms out, facing Noah.

“You’re going to be sorry you did that,” he growls, clearly still in pain from the strike across his back.

Noah looks at me, and I can tell he’s scared, too. His eyes are wild and wide, and his entire body is shaking. But he’s protecting me. He made my father stop. “Maddie?” he says. “Are you okay?” I nod my head yes, but doing so causes the room to spin. I vomit all over the floor.

“My mom,” I say, creaking out the words.

“I know,” Noah says. The whine of sirens approaches the house. “Can you get up? We need to open the gate. They can cut through it, but that will take too long.”

“Don’t you do it,” my dad says, turning his head to look at me with his angry green eyes. “I’ll kill you if you let them in, Maddie. I swear to god.”

“Shut up!” I scream, the sound ricocheting inside my head like a bullet. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I try and pull myself up using the coffee table. On wobbly feet, I stagger to the front door and press the entry button for the gate, and before I know it, officers are rushing inside my house with their guns drawn. Red and blue lights flash in bright circles in our yard, and the EMTs bring the gurney up the front stairs. “She’s in the living room,” I say, pointing in the right direction.

“You’re bleeding,” one of them says.

“Just go help my mom,” I saying, sobbing. “He was trying to kill her. Please, please help her first.” A second later Noah rushes up next to me, putting his long arms around me. He’s still shaking. I am, too.

“They have him,” he whispers in my ear. “It’s okay, it’s okay. They put him in handcuffs. They’re going to take him away.”

I nod, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Mama,” I whimper, and with the medic’s assistance, Noah leads me back toward the living room, just as three police officers are leading my father out. His wrists are cuffed in front of his waist, and he stares at me with tears in his eyes, where only a moment before there had been hatred.

“I didn’t mean it, Maddie,” he pleads. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this. You’re my angel . . . you’re Daddy’s sweet little girl.”

I stop, staring right back at him, feeling the strength of Noah’s arm around me. “No, I’m not,” I say with a coldness I haven’t felt toward him before. This man could be a stranger standing before me. This man is not my father. “You can go to hell.”

“Maddie!” he yells as the policemen drag him out of the house. I can still hear his muffled cries from the back of the police car as the medic sits me down on the couch and examines me. Two other medics work on my mother, sliding her carefully onto a backboard, stabilizing her head between two bright yellow pieces of padding. She hasn’t woken up.

“Is she okay?” I ask, tearfully. “Is she alive?”

One of the medics, a thickly built, dark-haired woman with kind blue eyes, nods. “She’s critical, though, and we need to get her to the hospital. You’ll follow in a different ambulance, okay? We’ll make sure the nurses keep you posted. They’ll need to run some more tests at the ER, but I think you probably just have a concussion.” She pauses. “Is there anyone you can call? Another family member to come wait with you?”

“I need to call my parents,” Noah says, as though just realizing this. “They’ll be wondering where I am.” He squeezes my hand and steps over to the other side of the room with his cell phone. He looks stunned, like he can’t believe what he’s just done. I can’t believe how lucky I am he was with me tonight. If he hadn’t been—if he hadn’t thought to grab that poker—who knows what my father would have done?

“Maddie?” the medic prods me. “Someone to call? The police are going to want to take your statement. Since you’re a minor, you’ll need an adult with you.”

Slowly, I bob my head and reach deep into my pocket for my cell phone, which amazingly didn’t fall out during the struggle with my dad. I scroll through my contacts until I find the one I want.

Hannah answers on the third ring. When I hear her voice I start to sob—loud, body-racking movements that make it almost impossible for me to speak.

“Oh my god, Maddie!” Hannah says, panicked. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

I take a few hiccuping breaths as I attempt to calm down. “He tried to kill her,” I finally say in a weak voice. “We have to go to the hospital. I have to talk with the police. We need you, Hannah. Can you . . . can you come?”

“Which hospital?” she inquires, and I look to the medic and ask the same thing.

“Swedish,” the medic answers, and I relay this information to Hannah, who says she will meet me there. After we hang up, I can’t help but feel that Emily made sure Hannah picked up the phone—that after all we’ve been through, her daughter wants me to be okay.