Shades of Atlantis by Carol Oates

his fingertips roughly pressing into the flesh on my cheek. The kitchen door swung open so hard it banged off the wall. At last! I was beginning to wonder if Stephen had left the building. But just as quickly, without opening my eyes, I sensed him.
    Get your hands off her! Caleb roared furiously. Chris was pulled backward away from me, and I opened my eyes to see Caleb pressing Chris against the wall, his forearm locked across Chris’s chest. Chris glared at him defiantly. Caleb returned his stare, his expression livid. My lungs were working overtime; I couldn’t seem to take a full breath. Stephen had stopped at the kitchen door, his shoulders rigid with shock.
    Are you hurt? Caleb asked starkly, obviously trying to keep his voice controlled and failing miserably. I knew he was talking to me even though his eyes remained unblinking on Chris’s face.
    No, I’m fine, I croaked, patting myself down with the palms of my hands as if confirming my reply.
    Caleb’s eyes darted to me. His face was full of boiling rage, his chest heaving, but his eyes were desperately seeking another guarantee.
    I’m okay — really, I assured him, trying to smile and appear calm. Let him go; he’s just drunk.
     
    Stephen continued to watch the scene with wide eyes. Caleb glowered at Chris, who seemed to have trouble focusing. A low rumbling sound was coming from Caleb, a vibration in his throat. His free hand was now open wide and held back, his eyes focused on Chris. Then his hand abruptly dropped limply by his side, and in one smooth movement, Caleb dragged Chris by the front of his shirt and sat him forcefully onto a nearby chair.
    Chris slumped backward with his legs splayed in front of him.
    Caleb left Chris there and rushed to my side, surprising me by how swiftly he moved. Wrapping one hand around my waist, he brushed the other across my forehead and down my reddened cheek, over the rip at my shoulder and down my arm as far as my elbow before returning his hand to my face with his palm curved against my skin. Shivers ran through my entire body. My heart, still pounding furiously, threatened to go AWOL.
    Staring into Caleb’s eyes reminded me of staring at the flames of Bunsen burners in school, fiery and dancing with blue light. His jaw clenched.
    Are you sure? His voice was dark and full of anguish. I was momentarily dumbstruck by his body so close to mine and realized I had my arm around his waist too, my hand resting at his lower back. Only when his stormy eyes narrowed at my lack of response did I manage to whisper.
    Yes.
    Chris stirred in his chair. Do you know who I am? he demanded venomously.
    Yes, you’re Chris Baxter. Caleb’s eyes didn’t stray from my face. The movement of his lips mesmerized me as he spoke, each word sending his warm breath over my face.
    I know you, and I know your father, Caleb continued, his tone calm and yet still frightening with choler.
    When I tell him what you just did Chris began.
    Good idea, Caleb cut in darkly, his eyes flickering to my shoulder. Let’s call him and tell him exactly what went on here tonight. His expression was bleak, guilty almost, and I could tell that he was blaming himself for a situation I created. My fingers flinched at his back in shame. Caleb caught his breath before continuing.
    While we’re at it, Caleb continued inexorably, we should let your school know. I’m sure it would interest your soccer coach to know about the alcohol and drugs you’ve been consuming. How did he know so much about Chris? I was unable to move my eyes from Caleb’s face, so I couldn’t see Chris’s reaction, but I heard him groan, heading toward a surrender. Caleb’s hand slid from my face and back down to my shoulder, leaving my skin tingling. He pulled gently at the rip to check the extent of the damage. Without another word, he took my hand to leave. Of course, embarrassingly, I couldn’t.
    A look of horror crossed his face. What’s wrong? How could I tell him the proximity of