Bleed Like Me (3 page)

Ricardo was Dennis's other high school employee. He was really mellow and didn't mind the crap jobs around the store. I covered his shifts when he had soccer games, and in exchange he cleaned the bathroom without complaining.

“Ricardo doesn't like me as much as you,” Dennis said. I snorted. Ricardo was the most agreeable kid I'd ever met. He willingly put up with hours of bullshit monthly window-display adjustments, while I bailed after twenty minutes of Dennis's fussing. “Also, he had a game, and since it was just a small endcap display, I figured you could handle it. You're here anyways.”

I shook my head. “What're you going to do when I graduate and quit?”

Dennis laughed. “You won't quit. You like me too much. You and Ricardo will be here forever.” He said this all the time, and I vacillated between accepting his words as the truth and wanting to vomit at the idea of being stuck in the same town forever. As it was, I squirreled away the money I didn't spend on cigarettes in hopes of one day getting out of Dodge.

Since Dennis only had the store, he treated Ricardo and me like we were his kids or something. And even though Ricardo was way more willing to put up with stuff, I suspected I was Dennis's favorite. His messed-up, chain-smoking, surly favorite.

“I'll be starting a 401(k) for you soon,” Dennis continued as I waved and pointed Ali toward the door. “Then I bet you'll want some sort of company car. And probably health insurance.” He patted his stomach like a sadistic Santa.

I shook my head and snatched a candy bar from a large box next to the front exit.

“You'll have to pay for that. It's not part of your company benefits,” Dennis called.

“Okay. Dock it from my paycheck.” It was an ongoing joke between us. Since I'd started working at Standard, no one had ever bought candy from the shop. Dennis threw away tons of it every six months but still insisted on buying more to display in a large dusty box in front. I secretly suspected he kept buying it for snacks for the three of us.

My steps fell in line with Ali's as we moved past the front window and down the street. Loud music blared from one of the cars passing by us. Ali did a little spin dance move and nudged me.

“Have you seen the new kid with the blue hair?” she asked. Her shoes squeaked as she walked, and I eyed the fishnet-Converse combo she sported.

“You should wear boots with fishnets.”

She turned and dropped her eyes to my ratty jeans, too-small hoodie, and clunky work boots. “You're giving me fashion advice now?”

Yeah. Ali and I weren't really girlfriends that way. “Just saying.”

She crossed her arms. “So have you seen him?”

I reached up to touch the hoops on my ear. “Not really.”

Ali arched a pierced brow at me. “Not really? What does that mean? Have you seen him or not?”

I shrugged and she rolled her eyes. Lack of verbal commitment worked for me. I shared cigarettes, not gossip. Plus, I wasn't sure what to say.
We hung out, sort of. We mostly sat. I smoked. He laughed at the skaters. And bumped knees with me a few too many times for it to be an accident. But I have no idea what he wants with me.

We walked beneath the El bridge and I shivered in the cool autumn air. My hoodie had been washed too many times and had lost most of its warmth. Getting a new one involved either busting into my work funds, asking Mom to take me shopping, or asking her to pick one up for me. All options with an equal lack of appeal. Easier to just be cold.

The minute we emerged from the shadow of the bridge back into the sun, I pulled my cigarettes out of my bag. Ali pulled one from the box and placed it between her dark-lined lips. She cupped her hands around my lighter and then took a long drag.

I slipped my lighter into my back pocket. “Do you still have Saturday detention?”

Ali played with the ring in her eyebrow and I swatted at her hand. “What?”

“It'll get infected.”

Her fingers dropped to the bottom edge of one of the three T-shirts she wore. “Yep, Saturday detention, nine o'clock.”

I never got why Ali always pushed to get Saturday detention until she told me one day at school that her mom got drunk on
Friday nights and almost always slept most of Saturday. The thought of her having to hang out with Skeevy Dave all day, waiting for her mom to get out of bed, made me want to throw up in my mouth.

“How many more weeks do you have on this one?”

She flicked an ash. “Three. Then I have to come up with something new.”

Ali was obsessed with finding just the right thing to earn her Saturday detention without completely screwing up her chances of getting into state college. Most of our conversations revolved around plotting the next scheme.

“Any ideas?”

She pulled another drag from her cigarette and stubbed it out. “I heard about this kid who phoned in a bomb threat, but I think the police might get involved in that one.”

I nodded. Ali pointed to my bag and I fished out another cigarette for her. She was about the fastest smoker I'd ever seen. It cost me more money, but that was the price of not being a complete loner.

“So,” she continued, “I was thinking about maybe flooding the guys' locker room. You know? Sneaking in and turning on all the sinks and showers during a game.”

“Pretty good. Funny. Crazy. It'll cause enough damage to warrant more than an afternoon detention. Yeah, I think it'll work.”

“How long do you think Dennis will need you today?”

I stubbed out the rest of my cigarette and pocketed the butt. “Probably a half hour or so.”

“Wanna hang out?”

I shrugged. Ali flicked her cigarette at me.

“Gannon. It's a simple question. Do you want to hang out or don't you? Do you already have plans?”

I shook my head and swallowed the weird bubbly desire to see Brooks and his good hands. “No. We can hang out.”

•  •  •

I don't have the first frickin' clue how we ended up in the woods at someone's three-kegger. I usually hated that shit. Not the drinking so much as all the small talk required to fill my cup. It was annoying, and after my freshman year I'd avoided parties like the plague.

But Ali had some guy she was into and wanted to find him. After forty-five minutes of her pouting and begging, I finally agreed to go with her. Chasing guys wasn't my thing, and it hadn't ever been our thing to bond over hotties, but her buzzy eyes made me think maybe she was really into this one. I slid into her mom's car, and we made the twenty-minute drive to the woods with nothing but overly loud music between us.

“I'll get our first drinks,” Ali said, pushing her way into the large crowd circling the keg. I moved to the picnic tables and dropped onto one of the benches. A giant bonfire crackled
nearby, and huge speakers blared from both sides of the clearing. I zipped my hoodie all the way up.

I picked at the flaking paint on the table. Bodies whirled and danced around me. I curled my hands into my sleeves. Too many people were around. Too many people oblivious to my existence. I never should have agreed to come. Coolness seeped into my skin through my clothes.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Mom, hoping she'd insist I come home immediately. No answer. Of course. I knew she was home but couldn't pick up. I left a message telling her I was with Ali and would be home late. I didn't give her a time. She'd be asleep anyway, her body drained from a too-long day of wrangling boys between the soccer games they'd probably gotten kicked out of and the therapy appointments they hated.

“I didn't take you for a party kind of girl.” Brooks's voice wrapped around me like a scarf, and something inside my stomach flipped.

“I'm not. I'm doing a favor for a friend.”

He sat on the bench, his thighs straddling it so his knees bumped against me. “Which friend?”

He pushed my hair back and teased his fingers over the hoops in my ear. I smacked his hand and pointed to Ali. She had her tongue in some guy's mouth and had dropped the cups she was holding to wrap her arms around his neck. Great.

“She seems to be doing okay on her own.”

I nodded. This was exactly why I never got involved with Ali and her boyfriend drama. I was always left trapped in some random place with no ride, waiting for her hookup to be over.

Brooks moved closer to me and pressed his knee along my thigh. “Let me guess. That's your ride?”

I nodded, unwilling to let him hear a hitch in my voice.

He popped up. “It's your lucky day, then. Come on.” He held his hand out to me.

“Are you taking me home?”

“No. For a walk.”

I crossed my arms. “Dude. I'm not taking a walk in the woods with you. I've seen that movie and have no interest in starring in it. I'll wait for Ali.”

He gripped my hips and hauled me up. Huh. Stronger than I'd guessed. He unzipped my hoodie and his cold fingers pushed the neck of my shirt to the side. I should stop this. But I was frozen to my spot. His thumb dipped into the hollow skin near my collarbone. “Don't cover this up.”

I blinked twice. “What? Why?”

“Because it may be my favorite part of you.”

I batted his hand away. “Have you been drinking?”

“Maybe. But the better question is, why aren't you?”

“I don't answer questions.”

He grinned and my stomach flipped again. “Of course you don't. Now come with me.”

“Why?”

He leaned forward and I thought he might kiss me. Here. In front of everyone. My fingers curled into a fist, ready to coldcock him. But his lips found my ear instead. “Because I know you really want to. Come on. You aren't talking to anyone. You don't have to sit here alone.”

Then his hand was on my back, guiding me away. I didn't even wave good-bye to Ali. Just followed the press of his hand and the sound of his boots crunching along the path through the woods. He hummed a little, and I watched him through the veil of blue hair covering his eyes.

We hadn't gone more than twenty feet into the woods when a loud voice called out.

“Brooks. We're going swimming. You coming?”

Four obviously drunk guys stood by the clearing to the river, pulling their shirts off.

My eyes widened and I turned to Brooks. “It's not even fifty degrees out. You can't be serious.”

He grinned and pushed the blue hair from his face. “Gannon. I might as well tell you now, there isn't much I say no to.”

My heart thunked at the weird declaration.

“You'll freeze.”

“Are you worried?” He tucked me under his arm, and I
relaxed into his warmth for a second before elbowing him.

“I'm not worried. I just think you're psychotic.”

“Brooks. Are you coming?” one of the guys bellowed again. They had peeled off their jeans and stood waiting like overly steroided plucked chickens.

“Give me a second,” Brooks called back. The guys grumbled, but then turned and sprinted to the river. Several seconds of screaming and “Holy shit, it's frickin' cold” followed.

Brooks pulled me against a tree. “You should come with me.”

“Hell, no. I don't do hypothermia.”

He started to tug at the bottom of my shirt, and I dug my fingernails into his arm until he let go.

“It'll be fun.” He leaned in to me, and I bit my tongue to keep from asking him what he thought he was doing. It was obvious. I just couldn't really believe it. Didn't know if I wanted to.

“I don't want people to see me.” My eyes dropped. It was a stupid admission. Something I'd never offer to anyone else. The nearness of him was clouding my judgment. He was so close I felt a nipple ring through his thin shirt.

His mouth moved to mine, and he placed the tiniest kiss next to my bottom lip, then on my cheeks, forehead, along my jaw.
Yes. No. Crap.
I wanted him to press forward, but he pulled back instead. “Okay. Wait for me.”

He stepped back and had his shirt off before I could move.
He turned, sliding his jeans down over his thin, muscular legs and kicking his shoes off, leaving him in nothing but a pair of plaid boxers. My breath caught when I saw the pale smooth marks on his back. I took a step forward and reached my hand out. He whipped around and squinted at me.

“Don't touch.”

“What?” Even with the bonfire I wasn't sure what I was seeing. Were those scars? What the hell had happened to him?

“We'll talk about it later.”

His finger traced my collarbone before he dropped another small kiss on my lips and then bolted for the water. His entire body submerged beneath the surface, and I waited for him to pop back up. Twenty seconds passed. My heart beat too fast and I started to get the overwhelming feeling that made my skin itch.

He came up laughing. I slid to the ground and hugged my knees, watching as he goaded the other guys into going under. The pale skin of his chest seemed to shine in the darkness. He looked over at me and grinned, shaking the wet hair out of his eyes like a puppy dog. He turned around, and I swallowed when I saw his back again. Scars from being whipped, maybe. My hands dropped to my lap, nails digging into my palms over and over.
Don't let him draw you in.

Dennis made me haul paint cans into the storage garage for most of my shift the next day. It was exhausting, and I cursed him every time I saw him. He chuckled and offered to let me clean the bathroom instead. Ricardo, in his soccer jersey, Standard vest, and too-clean jeans, smirked and pointed to the toilet brush. I gave him the finger.

“Mop's lighter than a paint can,” he teased.

“Yes, but walking into the bathroom is like bathing in a urinal. I won't even use it to wash my hands.”

Ricardo laughed. “Yeah, I know. You sneak to the Punkin' and smoke, then use theirs. That bathroom is equally disgusting.”