Bleed Like Me (24 page)

“No.” His voice dripped with hurt. “I'll get us back to what we were. You just have to trust me.”

I cried harder and Brooks pressed himself against me until I fell into a restless sleep.

•  •  •

I woke alone and reached for my phone. No text from Brooks. Fear slithered over me. I dialed his latest number, but he didn't pick up. I walked into Gary and Bruce's room, but they mumbled they hadn't seen him and I should go back to sleep.

I paced and called Brooks again.

Finally around noon, almost an hour after Gary and Bruce left for work, when I'd gone from scared to frantic, Brooks came home.

I lashed out the moment he walked into the living room. “Where've you been? Why did you leave me?”

“Baby . . .” He gave me a lazy and too-happy smile. Dread washed over me.

“What are you on?”

He pulled me in to him, his hands touching every bare part of my flesh. “You feel so good. I can't get enough of you. Take off your clothes.”

I stepped back. “Did you do more E?”

He grinned.

I held out my hand. “Where's mine?”

“No. Not for you. Not this time. You crash too hard.”

I swallowed. “You're doing E without me?”

He pulled open the backpack that he'd dropped on the floor when he walked in. “It's just an appetizer . . .”

“An appetizer for what?”

He lifted up a utility knife. “For this.”

I stumbled back. “What? No. Not when you're high.”

He reached for me, but I stepped back. Anger lanced through me, warring with fear over what he planned to do with the knife.

“It'll be better when I'm high.”

I shook my head. “Everything is better when we're high, right? Do you want to know why? Because it's the only fucking way to make this life livable.”

“Aww, Gannon, don't start with that.” He raked fingers through his hair, fingers I used to love and crave. “You'll kill my buzz.”

“Where's my E?” I demanded, holding a hand out. “I want it to be better too.”

“No. No more E for you. I'm not listening to you crash again. I have a better idea.” He held up the knife and slid the blade in and out.

“I told you I don't want it.”

“It's not for you, baby. I'd never do that to you. Not when I couldn't be sure how it felt.”

My body went cold. “What's it for, then?”

He grinned again and walked into our bedroom. I should have left. I knew it; every fiber of my being screamed to get out. But I was too scared.

Brooks dropped on the bed and pulled off his shirt. The
tattoo looked even redder against the paleness of his skin. “You're everything to me,” he said, sliding the blade out of the casing and leaving it out this time. “You have to know that.”

“I do. What are you doing with the knife?” Fear popped inside me.

Before my mind could wrap itself around what was happening, he cut two angry slashes into his arm. Thin lines of bright red.

“One for the fire. And one for juvie.”

“Jesus. Stop.” I lunged for him, but he pushed me back, so strong from the E or from whatever point he was trying to make. He wrapped his legs around me and flipped me beneath him. I squirmed and he shifted his knees up, pinning my shoulders.

“You think I wanted this life, Gannon? I gave up everything. I fucking ran into a fire for you. I went to juvie and did horrible things to get back to you. And you fucking buckled at the first sign of trouble. You doubted us. You doubted me.”

“Brooks, please. Stop.”

He slashed at his arm again, deeper this time. “And this one is so my princess has food and a roof over her head.”

“Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

I reared up, but his legs held firm. Blood poured off his arm onto the bed. He made another slash, deeper. Too much blood.

“Baby, please,” I begged. “You don't know what you're doing. You don't feel it. The E—”

“Why did you give up on us?” he screamed. The bed shook, from him or me I couldn't tell. Nothing was registering beyond how much blood was dripping from his arm.

“I didn't give up,” I babbled, tears choking my words. “Brooks. Oh God. You're going to hurt yourself. I don't want this.”

He ignored me. He barely even looked at his arm, just slashed again and again. I cried and pleaded, but he swung his head back and forth. “I fucking love you. I would do anything for you. I want the pain. Your pain. You don't have to carry it anymore. Give it to me.”

And then the knife hit a vein.

He cried out this time as blood gushed from him and his legs gave out. He curled onto his side and dropped the knife.

“Oh God. Oh God. What have you done?” I pressed my hand against his arm. But it was so much blood. It pulsed out of him so fast.

I couldn't see through the tears. Through the blood. I fumbled for my phone and dialed 911.

“What's your emergency?” the operator said.

I didn't even recognize my voice as I said, “Blood—so much blood. I think he's dying. He's bleeding so much.”

“Ma'am. You have to calm down. Tell me where you are and what happened.”

The words strangled me. I pressed my hand harder against
the slashes on Brooks's arm and he winced. His eyes were shut. I tried to describe the location of our apartment, but all I could spit out was “Across from McDonald's. There's no bathroom. All the blood. Please help him.”

His breath changed and I cried out again. The operator continued to talk to me, but I couldn't answer any more questions. Terrified sobs spilled out of me.

The wait was endless, her talking to me, asking me questions, telling me to calm down. Brooks growing paler and paler beside me. And me crying and pleading for them to get there faster.

I pressed harder into his arm, but the blood wouldn't let up. He was so still; I couldn't feel him breathing.

“Brooks. Hang on. Oh God. Baby, hang on. Don't give up on me. Jesus. Oh God.”

Covered in blood and suffocating in my own despair, I cried louder. Sirens. Voices. Hands wrapped around me, pulling me away from the abyss, from the spot on the bed where I'd curled in to Brooks. Fingers digging into my shoulders, dragging me back. Screaming. Them. Me. Screaming. For Brooks. For us. Pleading. Screaming. Always screaming.

Begging for help that came too late.

“Hand me the wrench,” Ricardo said from beneath the sink. My sink. My apartment. My life.

I plucked it out of the toolbox and placed it in his hand. Then went back to staring at the traffic on the street. The parking lot lights at the Punkin' had been flipped on in anticipation of the night crowd. Most of the smokers had left to go hang out at the skate park.

“I think that should do it.” Ricardo stood up and wiped his hands across his jeans. Stubby hands. “Now you have a fully functional disposal. Do you want to give it a try?”

I shrugged.

Ricardo shook his head and moved to my refrigerator. “I'll
bet you have some nasty takeout in here that you probably need to get rid of.”

“No.”

“Well, something else, then.” He swung open the fridge door. “Gannon. Why isn't there any food in here?”

I bit my lip. “Haven't gotten around to getting groceries.”

A car pulled in to the parking lot of the Punkin'. Honda Civic. My stomach knotted and my hands started to shake. Brooks was everywhere. Even in the stupid little things. I couldn't exorcise him. Even throwing his ashes into the Mississippi hadn't helped. Every minute of every day was an effort to let go of him.

Ricardo saw my hands and turned to search for what had set me off. Nothing. Everything. He moved across the room and grabbed his sweatshirt, pulled it on over his head. Turned back to me.

“I'll take you grocery shopping.”

I shook my head. “Not really up for it tonight.”

“Maybe you could call your mom and ask her to drop some off.”

“No.” I couldn't. She called the store every other day, but words never came when Dennis handed me the phone. I listened to her babble about the boys and after a few minutes I hung up.

Ricardo tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. “Well, I was thinking about going to see a movie. Do you wanna come? I'll buy you Junior Mints.”

I gave him a half smile. It was all I'd eat out of Dennis's dusty candy box at the store. Ricardo smiled back, so much hope on his face. I hated that he'd spent time investing in me. But he was leaving soon. Which was fine. Everyone left eventually.

“No, thanks.”

He released a long breath, scrubbed a hand over his buzz cut.

“When, Gannon?”

The bluntness of his question stirred something inside me. A tiny spark. Probably nothing, maybe. I slid my hands over the scars on my stomach. I could feel them even through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. Or maybe I just thought I felt them.

“Gannon.” He snapped his fingers and I dropped my hands. “No more kid gloves with you. When?”

I took a deep breath and the spark flared. Bigger now, not enough to mean much, but still a flare of heat after numbing cold for so long. “I don't know, Ricardo. I honestly don't know.”

“Well, I guess that's better than never.”

I shrugged again. Even the pull of my shoulders hurt somehow. “It's all I've got.”

He stepped in front of me and gave me a hug I didn't return. It was the first time anyone had touched me since I got home. He smelled all wrong. Too clean. Too good. “It's okay, Gannon. It's enough. For now, it's enough.”

Also by C. Desir

Fault Line

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition October 2014

Text copyright © 2014 by Christa Desir

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