Bleed Like Me (9 page)

Halfway down my block, Luis and Miguel came tearing past me. They'd teamed up this time; I could tell by the pace they kept. Mom's voice carried from the house: “Get back here right now, both of you.” Her words cracked at the end. Whatever the hell they'd done, it was bad.

I motored to the front door and saw her standing with a ball of fluff in her hand. An unmoving ball of fluff. My feet refused to take the last few steps toward her.

“What is that?”

Her gaze darted between the end of the block and her hands before finally landing on my face.

“What is that?” I asked again.

“The Wilsons' new kitten.”

Such a huge wave of grief hit me I almost crumpled where I stood. I shut my eyes. “Oh my God, what did they do?”

Her hands shook. “What do you think they did? They killed it. Kicked it. Stepped on it. I didn't even know until I heard them laughing in the backyard.”

Every muscle in my body protested, but I stepped forward and took the kitten from her. It was warm, but so still and limp I almost dropped it. “Go get the boys. I'll take care of the cat.”

I moved past her into the house, dropping my bag onto the
floor and shifting the kitten onto the newspaper sitting on the side table. Alex watched me with large eyes and a trembling mouth. I blinked back tears.

“Don't be like them,” I said quietly. It was a stupid command. Alex couldn't change his fate any more than I could. In a few years he'd be running right along with his brothers.

I picked up the cat and moved toward the back door, flicking on the floodlights with my elbow. Mom's forgotten compost pile was in the back corner of the garden, and I made my way to it quickly, pretending I wasn't carrying the neighbor boy's pride and joy in my arms.

I dropped to my knees, set the kitten down, and grabbed the tiny shovel next to the compost. Dirt pricked my knees through the holes in my fishnets. The ground was too hard; only small pieces of dirt flung up when I tried to pierce it. My hands shook and I adjusted my grip on the shovel. I tried breathing through my mouth, but my entire body started to tremble. I gulped in a huge breath of air, squeezing my eyes so tight my head throbbed. How could they? And why was I somehow not surprised? I sat there too long, swallowing down the sobs that pressed against the back of my throat until my head hurt. Something moved behind me and I swiveled, ready to send Alex back inside.

Brooks. A whimper escaped from me and then he was there with his arms around me, cradling me as I sobbed into his chest. His hands brushed over my hair and he still smelled
a bit like schnapps, but it didn't matter. He was there and held me like my own parents hadn't done in too many years to count.

When my sobs turned to sniffles, Brooks lifted me from his lap and finished digging the hole. He slid the kitten in and covered her. He balled the newspaper up and tossed it in the compost pile. Then he took me back in his arms and squeezed me. His leather bracelet irritated my skin, but I didn't move away. I wanted the pain. Needed it.

Brooks stood up and grabbed my hand, helping me to my feet. He steered us in through the back door. Mom was there, eyes red and hollow at the same time. The boys were sitting at the kitchen table, eating but not saying a word. I wanted to throw up.

Brooks led me past them, said something in a low voice to my mom, and guided me upstairs. She didn't register us leaving the kitchen. I glanced out the front window and saw Dad's car in the driveway. He was home and in hiding. I hated him so much. Hated all of them.

Brooks clicked the door to my bedroom shut and twisted the lock. He signaled me to lie on the bed. Tears threatened to spill again, but he pulled my shirt off and guided his fingers over the cuts crisscrossing my stomach. If he noticed there were more, he didn't say anything. Just traced them softly before meeting my eyes in question. I looked away. I couldn't say what I wanted, but somehow he knew, because suddenly
his fingers were digging into my skin, reopening scabbed-over wounds. My body buckled in pain and relief.

After it was over, Brooks slipped into my bathroom and rifled through drawers until he found bandages. He kissed the cuts and scars on my torso before cleaning them off and covering them. I loved him then. For all of it. And I fell asleep against the plane of his chest, soothed by the touch of his fingers tracing the hoops along my ear.

When I woke to the first rays of light pouring through my window, Brooks was gone. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and dragged myself into the shower. My hands skimmed over the bandages on my stomach before quickly ripping them off. One of my cuts started to bleed again and the soap stung as it passed over it, but I didn't care. I turned the water up as high as I could take it and shut my eyes against the events of the past day.

Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, twirling a cup of coffee in her hands, when I walked downstairs. I poured a bowl of corn flakes and sat across from her.

“Sorry about yesterday.”

I nodded.

“I don't know what I'm going to tell the Wilsons.”

The spoon dropped from my hand. “You haven't told them anything yet?”

She shook her head and I felt sick. Poor Tim was probably freaking out.

“I couldn't. What am I supposed to say?”

Your kids are messed up and belong in a detention facility?
I almost said it out loud but shoveled another spoonful of corn flakes into my mouth instead.

“Maybe,” she continued, “I could tell them the cat was hit by a car.”

I gaped at her. “You're thinking about lying?”

She twirled her coffee mug faster and nodded. “You wouldn't understand, but sometimes lying is really the kindest option.”

The legs of my chair scraped along the floor as I got up and dropped my bowl into the sink. I grabbed my messenger bag and took off without saying another word.
You wouldn't understand, but sometimes lying is really the kindest option.
Her words bounced around in my head. I understood perfectly. And the pathetic part was that she had no clue I was a living example of that.

•  •  •

“You okay?” Brooks's voice whispered along the back of my neck, and I bit my lip to stop the grin threatening to blossom.

I turned from my locker and nodded. “Yeah. I guess.” My
hands itched to reach for him so I tucked them into my jeans pockets. “Thanks.”

“Sorry about yesterday,” he said.

I looked at him sideways and he motioned like he was drinking. So much had happened; I'd almost forgotten about his performance at the store.

“Don't do it again. My job, Dennis, Ricardo, they're the only things I care about. Don't mess that up. I don't want to be fired.”

He stepped closer and my breath caught. “The only things?” Heat burned my cheeks as he dipped down and nibbled his favorite spot on my neck.

I curled closer to him. “Not the only things,” I whispered.

Before I could lean farther in to him, he pushed me against my locker and gripped my hips tightly. He drove his tongue into my mouth and I squeaked a little. Watching hallway PDA used to represent the worst form of torture for me, but everything was different with Brooks. I couldn't release him, couldn't get enough of him.

“Get a room,” someone yelled, and I finally pulled back.

Brooks's eyes buzzed with energy and I imagined I didn't look much more composed. We'd just declared ourselves a couple to the whole high school. And while most of them didn't care about me, Brooks was the new kid and the cause of a great deal of speculation.

“I won't be able to come over later,” he said, and I hated
the crushing feeling in my stomach. “But later this week, okay? I'll bring over a movie. Maybe
Fright Night
.”

“Where are you gonna be?”

He released a sigh and pushed the hair out of his face. The black T-shirt he had on looked like it hadn't been washed in a week. “You weren't the only one pissed about my schnapps intake yesterday. My foster mom is making me go to AA every day this week.”

I burst into laughter. “Really? Do you have to get a sponsor and everything?”

“No. I already have one. They made me get one in rehab.”

My laughter stopped. “Oh.”

He leaned in and tugged at the hoops in my ear. “Don't look so surprised, sweetheart. It was a long time ago, and now it's all part of my rock-and-roll image.”

I opened my mouth to ask him about the rumors of him in juvie, but before I could say anything, he dropped a kiss on my lips and moved into the hordes of people walking down the hall. “Saturday, though,” he called back to me. “I'll come for you Saturday.”

•  •  •

Saturday couldn't come soon enough. Although I saw Brooks in the halls and even managed to let him feel me up during Thursday lunch hour, it wasn't the same as being with him outside school.

Things at home were strange and quiet. I had no idea what Mom had said to the Wilsons, but I'd seen Tim playing outside with a new puppy on Friday morning. My brothers exchanged glances a lot, but none of them had had any more psychotic episodes since the kitten. The circles beneath Mom's eyes were so prominent they looked like bad makeup. Dad talked at all of us, worked late, and pretended everything was fine.

“So Tim's got a new dog,” Dad said during our particularly excruciating Friday-night dinner. “Seems like everything is fine there.”

Mom coughed but then covered with her cheery voice. “Yes. He seems really happy about it.”

“I'm surprised he didn't get another cat.” My dad, the huge asshole.

Everything stilled. Not even plate clinking or cup scraping from the boys.

Dad met my eyes across the table, then looked down. “Although maybe not,” he mumbled.

After a completely word-free dessert, I made two deep cuts on my inner thighs. Brooks's face flashed into my mind and guilt nipped at me, but I couldn't stand the painful silence blanketing my house any longer.

•  •  •

Brooks hadn't mentioned a game plan for our date other than for me to be ready to be retrieved at eight o'clock.
Retrieved.
His word choice. I slid a cutoff jean skirt over my fishnets and tugged on my black leather boots. I threw on a long-sleeve T-shirt with two tanks layered over the top. I applied too much makeup and grinned at myself in the mirror. Just right for my blue-haired boy.

My parents had taken the boys to the movies because they'd had a “good week” following the kitten disaster. It was all ridiculous make-believe and I ignored them when they left. I was standing at my mirror fussing over my hair when I heard Brooks scream from the front porch.

“Gannon. Gannon.”

I peeked out the window and waved to him.

“Get your hot little self down here before I drag you out of the house.”

I bolted down the stairs and pulled him inside. “What the hell are you doing? I have neighbors, and my parents could have been home.”

He gave me a boyish grin and checked me out. “You look edible.”

“Gross.” I swatted him.

“I peeked into the garage,” he said. “Your parents' car was gone. And I don't give a shit about your neighbors. At this point I'm sure they've already designated this the House of Crazy.”

I shivered at the memory of Tim Wilson's dead kitten.

Brooks pulled me toward him and dropped tiny kisses all
over my face. His hands slid down to my thighs and tucked into my jean skirt pockets. “This I like.”

I drew back from him, scared of the want that overtook me whenever he got close. “Where are we going tonight?”

“A party.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That's your big date plan? Take me to a party? You promised me
Fright Night
.”

He lifted one hand and skimmed his fingers over the faded hickey on my neck, frowning. “Some other time. There's a good band playing. Most of your Punkin' Donuts friends will be there. And I guarantee you won't regret what you do with me tonight.”

I slipped out of his arms and took a step back. “The Punkin' Donuts crew are not my friends. They're poseurs who shop at Urban Outfitters and Dark Alley. The only thing they're good for is bumming cigarettes, and most of them don't smoke menthols. Also, you should probably hold off on making me any guarantees of fun. You're not exactly batting a thousand in that area.”

His fingers hooked into the neck of one of my tank tops and he tugged me toward him. He dropped to his knees and raised the bottom of my shirts to expose my stomach, searching for new cuts. I looked away. His tongue found one of my scars and circled it.

“But I'm not exactly a total failure, either, eh?” he said through licks.

I yanked my shirt down. The room had gotten too hot. I pulled him off his knees and led him toward the door.

The night was cool, but the goose bumps on my neck felt more like anticipation than a reaction to the weather. He opened the passenger door of his rusty Civic and booked around to his side, bouncing in excitement. He peeled out of my driveway, waving at Tim and his new puppy playing on the front lawn next door. He turned on the radio and opened his glove compartment to a package of filtered menthols. I smiled at him and patted his head before pulling out the pack and lighting up.

Two cigarettes and a lecture about why I should roll my own smokes later, we'd pulled up to a fancy house on the edge of Thatcher Woods. I stubbed my cigarette out and put the butt into the box.

“Do you trust me?” Brooks asked, flicking on the light inside the car.

“No.”

He laughed. “Good.”

He'd replaced his eyebrow bar with a ring, and little butterflies popped up in my stomach at the strange sexiness of him. His dark eyes searched my face and then he pulled a small piece of paper from his back pocket.

He unfolded it and revealed two tiny blue pills with clovers stamped on them.