Don't Breathe a Word (13 page)

Chapter 24

“I don't know about this,” May said as we trudged past a row of brownstones in the evening light. “You sure? I mean, they don't mind me bringing an extra girl . . . in fact, Julian got pretty excited . . .”

Julian was May's contact for her art student gig.

“I'm sure.” My mom took a life-drawing class once, so how bad could it be? “How did you get into this, anyway?”

“There was an ad up at the school, and I answered it. ‘Figure-drawing students looking for models, must be willing to take off clothes . . .'”

“Take off clothes?”

My scar
. They would see my scar. And May would, too. “You didn't say anything about taking off clothes.”

“Well, of course you have to take off your clothes, numbskull! That's why they call it
figure
drawing—you kind of have to if you wanna draw a figure. You know what
nude
means, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn't realize
nude
and
I
would ever have anything in common in front of a room full of people—”

“They're artists,” she shot back. “They don't care about your saggy tits.”

“I do not have saggy tits!”

May laughed. “Oh, a sore spot, eh?”

Somebody looked out from a second-story window. Emboldened by May's insult, I shouted, “Mind your own business!”

“Look, you don't have to. You can go back right now and I'll tell Julian you were too chickenshit—but seriously, it's good money, and a free shower, and it's not like you have to f—”

“Yeah, but close enough.”

“Fine,” said May. “Go back. I'm only taking you because Santos and me think you need a job, even if Creed doesn't give a shit if you sit around eating bonbons all day.
He
can find work for you. But sooner or later, it would be nice if you helped out instead of laying around all the time making moon eyes at Creed.”

“I don't make moon eyes,” I muttered. “He's like a brother. Like you and Santos, right?”

“Yeah. Right. Just be careful. Don't fuck him over and then go back to suburbia. If you do, one of us will kill you.” When she said it, she didn't look mean or threatening. She just looked scared.

“Santos and I, we got more than sex. He's . . . we look out for each other.” May stopped, giving me a look of deadly seriousness. “You watch out for Creed, okay? 'Cause none of the rest of us can. Not like you.”

Like me?

But she was wrong—nothing had happened between us since the night we went swimming. We still slept on the same mattress, but instead of curling around me like he used to, Creed was sleeping on the far edge with his back turned to me. When I asked him more about his parents, he responded with stony silence. No. May couldn't be more wrong about Creed and me.

“By the way,” she said, “he doesn't want me bringing you here—but don't you dare tell him I told you. I'd have to kill myself.”

“Why do you even say that?” I demanded, too annoyed to consider the rest of what she'd said. “Do you even realize how much you talk about killing yourself?”

May rolled her eyes. “God, you're even starting to sound like Creed. I'm just
kidding
.”

“Well, it's not funny. Suicide is not a joke.”

“Eff you. Don't go all suicide hotline on me.”

We stopped at a U-shaped building, where a tall, skinny guy with buggy eyes and haphazard blond hair let us into a first-floor apartment, weirdly bright after living by candlelight.

“Hey.” He smirked, taking May's face in his hands and giving her a wet kiss on the cheek. “You brought her.” His creepily round eyes traveled up and down me. I had a bad feeling about this.

“You must be Julian,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest before he could get a good look. It would happen soon enough, I guessed.

He patted May on the ass as she walked in, and she didn't respond—not even to give him the icy stare I'd come to expect. One glare from Creed would send him howling away like a kicked dog. I followed them into the apartment.

A half dozen sweaty boys from goateed freshmen to perpetual seniors crammed into the living room, drawing pads covering their laps. Julian put his hand on May's shoulder as if he was staking his claim. But they knew her, all right. Each of them jerked a cool nod in her direction, then shifted their gazes to land on me.

“Who's your friend?” a chubby guy with a fauxhawk and a lip ring asked. He wouldn't last ten seconds around Maul, who'd shave the hair off before Fauxhawk could scream for his mommy.

May gave me a look over her shoulder as if to say,
Don't mess this up for me
. She wouldn't be half as forgiving as Santos was when I got us chased out of the Red Apple Market—but maybe more forgiving than Creed when he found out I was here.

Julian started to peel her sweater away from her shoulders, but May sidestepped him. “Shower first.”

Julian smirked, and the testosterone level in the room notched up toward suffocating. “What about your friend?”

“She gets one, too.”

Fauxhawk leaned forward. “Together?”

“Fuck you,” said May. She took something from Julian's hand then headed toward the hall. “C'mon, Triste.”

I was glad to escape the haze and eyes and imminent detonations in the living room. The tiny bathroom smelled distinctly of boy and brought a rush of memory. My brothers. Poor Jonah. I didn't know which was worse—his believing I'd been kidnapped or that I would leave him on purpose. What would big brother Jesse think if he saw me now?

May turned her back. She rummaged around in her bag and put a pinch to her face, inhaling sharply.

“What was that?” I wasn't even sure I'd seen anything. She turned the water on scalding hot.

“What?” She went back to the business of undressing—holey jeans sagging around her hips, cami and panties three sizes too big. Bones poke out of her chest like toothpicks, held together with razor-sharp collar bones.

“Quit watching me,” she barked.

No wonder I looked fat to her. One of her spindly legs could snap in half as easily as a piece of kindling.

The bathroom mirror steamed up as she stepped into the hot stream, and I sat on the toilet waiting for my turn.

“What's taking so long?” One of the guys shouted through the door, amidst hoots from the rest. “You girls don't do anything
I
wouldn't do.”

Suddenly I flashed on Asher's apartment. I always took showers after we had been together, letting the steam blot out my image in the mirror and the water scald me before disappearing down the drain. No one had ever seen me naked except for Asher.

But that was nothing like what I was doing now.

Soon it was my turn. I hid the bracelet in my pile of clothes and maneuvered the towel to cover myself until I got into the shower. The water rained over my skin, washing off one kind of dirt in order to put on another. The heat pricked my scars.

May stood with a towel around her, slathering on concealer. “Get moving. Every minute you're in there is money down the drain.”

“I want to be clean on the outside, at least,” I retorted. She ignored me, then wiped the steam away so she could line her eyes with black.

Someone pounded on the door.
“Hurry up in there!”

“Keep your damn pants on!”

May handed me the eyeliner as I wrapped myself in the towel—fluffy but with a faint odor of mildew. “Okay, so you don't have saggy tits.” I snorted, and she smiled. “They're going to love 'em.”

The compliment made my stomach turn.

When we emerged into the hallway, Julian handed a wad of cash to May. She flipped through the bills, then handed it back. “This isn't enough.”

I felt relieved. I
knew
it wasn't enough for me to take this towel off, no matter how thick the wad was.

“Aw, come on,” Julian wheedled. “I added extra for your friend, plus a couple of people aren't here tonight . . .” He gave me a leering grin.

“That's bullshit. Twenty bucks.”

Twenty bucks?
She was willing to sell us for only twenty more bucks?

“Are you kidding?” I blurted. “Fifty!”

“Shut. Up,”
May whispered through clenched teeth.

“Forty,” Julian said without batting an eyelash.

“Fine, forty,” I said. May gave me a look of entirely new appreciation.

Julian went back to the boys to collect more cash.

“They must be desperate,” she said to me under her breath.

“Maybe you just never asked for enough.”

Out in the living room, the balance of power tilted very slightly with that extra forty dollars. Fauxhawk made some stupid comment about me and May in a raunchy pose, any raunchy pose. May told him to
fuck off
, they weren't paying us enough to do that. Julian gave him one of those nonverbal
shut the hell up
communications, and it was settled.

The guys put on some emo song that would make Creed smash his guitar against the wall, and Julian set up the chipped halogen lamp to cast weird shadows. There was a yoga mat in the middle of the room, clearly only big enough for one of us—or one slim person and another about to disappear.

I watched as May's face went from annoyed to blank. At the pool with Creed and Santos, May swam in her T-shirt, but here, she whipped off the towel as easily as if she'd done it a thousand times.

More money didn't make it any easier for me. The music thundered and moaned, and the boys could hardly contain themselves. They were glad for some fresh meat. Once I let the towel fall, I kept my hand over my hip until Julian snapped, “Hey, can you move that?”

I did.

And there were whispers of
wicked
, and
damn
, and
that's hardcore
, until May glanced over to see what had gotten the boys all riled. Her eyes went wide as they fell on my hip, healed over but still raw and pink.

I didn't speak when we were getting ready to go, or when May collected another ten dollars from Julian, who said, “Bring your friend back next time, too.”

We dressed in the bathroom as the emo mix still pounded in my ears. The filthy feeling would be there even if I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. The eyeliner under my eyes had smeared, but otherwise I looked exactly the same—a phantom, gutted from the inside out.

May didn't say anything when I threw up into the toilet or when I took two huge hits from my inhaler. She didn't ask me about the words burned into my skin. But she knew enough to assume some asshole in my past had done this to me. Little did she know the asshole was me.

When we came out, everyone had left except for Julian and some other guy—not Fauxhawk, but an equally enthusiastic pseudo-artist who shoved his hands in his pockets and kept glancing between May and me and his shoes. Maybe he wanted a closer look at my scar. Well, he was SOL.

I headed for the door without acknowledging any of them. May didn't follow.

Instead, she was huddled with Julian and whispering urgently.
Not this time. Wait.
Her whispers hissed, and Julian was winding up like a spring. The other loser still examined his shoelaces, his legs shaking, like any second he was going to pounce on me as May argued with Julian, in louder voices now. Julian wanted her to stay—no,
both
of us to stay—and they'd pay extra. A
lot
extra, and May could thank me and my negotiating for that. We should be grateful he wasn't calling the police because we'd probably end up with a rap sheet a mile long if he picked up the phone.

“Come on, May, let's go home.”

Julian snorted. “Like you two have a home to go to. Sleeping under a bridge these days, May?”

“Get out of here, Triste! Just get out!” May didn't look at me.

The conversation shifted and she started negotiating the terms. “Forget her. Just forget her. So there's two of you. How much money did you say you've got?”

Then I was out the door. I was sick again in the bushes in front of some brick house and started coughing as if my ribs were going to crack.

I had no idea where I was going, only that I didn't want to stay there with her, with whatever might come next.

Chapter 25

I set out through the dark streets of Capitol Hill. Every shadow formed the shape of Stench, though I hadn't seen him since Creed kicked his ass in the park. But now I felt as vulnerable as the day I'd come.

It was Friday night, so Broadway was hopping. Creed would be here somewhere—playing in the streets or in one of the clubs. His likeliest location was Neumos, maybe White Lava or Chop Suey.

The darkened alley behind Chop Suey flashed through my mind, and my memory shattered like the bottle Asher had broken against the wall. The one piece that remained was Creed, his words imprinted on my mind forever.

I'd found him, but I'd become his responsibility, just like I had been Asher's, and before that, Jesse's. What I really wanted was not to be a burden to anyone. To be really and truly free.

Santos would be out, too, though I had no idea where to begin looking. I took a breath and strode toward the lights.

The spaingers were out in droves, begging nickels and dimes as the pedestrians went by. One of the girls I thought I'd seen with Maul stood near the exit of the drugstore, smiling at any guy who walked past and sometimes at girls, too. The heavy feeling stayed in my lungs as I thought of what May was doing back at Julian's place. We'd made more money, hadn't we? Why did she think she had to do more?

The whirl of my thoughts almost blinded me to Maul, surrounded by his gang. One of his harem walked up—a new girl not more than fourteen, skinny and freckled and still in clean clothes—and whispered in his ear.

She didn't see it coming, and neither did I. His hand wailed across her face in a blow powerful enough to knock her over.

I felt stunned, as if he'd just hit me. I watched to see if someone would do something—call the police, or at least tell Maul where he could go.

Then, a stranger emotion crept in, a jealousy that shocked me. Everything was so clear for her—didn't she get that? She could walk away, and no one would blame her. Things had never been that simple for me.

But she didn't. It was like nothing had happened, or like Maul had just told a joke. The girl didn't cry. She didn't even react. She just stood up on her freckled legs and whispered into his ear again.

I had to find Creed.

Maul and his gang blocked my route, so I took the alley—cluttered with garbage cans and people too strung out to notice me. It was darkest here, moonlight reflected in puddles I swished through in my sneakers. Water soaked through the holes, and a stray thought flickered through my mind: I would have to ask Santos to get me another pair of socks.

And just like that, I saw his shape in the alley, leaning against a doorway up ahead and lit by the halo of the moon.

“Santos?” I called, picking up the pace. “Santos! I'm so glad you're here.”

Then there was someone else.

The figure jumped—both of them jumped. Under the moonlight, with my voice still echoing in the alley, they disappeared into the building like two dark phantoms.

I got to the door, and it was shut tight—maybe the back entrance to some club, locked from the inside.

I pounded on the door. “Santos? It's me, Triste. Are you there?”

“Shut the fuck up!” someone yelled, and an object whizzed past my shoulder. Glass from a bottle exploded on the pavement a few feet away, the label still clinging pathetically to the shards.

“What's going on back here?” A cop or Maul, who knew, but I took off, not stopping to wonder if I really had seen Santos or if it was some figment brought on by adrenaline. Past the college, past a row of doors streaming with people, past cafés and bars, past the whole, blurry night. The cell phone I'd turned off long ago suddenly felt heavy in my pocket. I could make one call and end all of this.

If only it didn't mean giving up Creed.

I didn't stop until I heard music—mournful guitar chords backed with a hard strum of bass, which spoke to my heart as clearly as if Creed had called my name. I was here, outside Chop Suey. Somehow my feet had known the way even if my brain hadn't. There was no line, only a bored bouncer who took one look at me and shook his head.

“I'm looking for my friend,” I said, breathless.

“Yeah, right. That's what they all say.”

“No, really. You know Creed?”

“The tall guy? Plays guitar?”

“Yeah. He in there?” My heart pounded so fast, I could've picked up the bouncer and thrown him out of the way. His complacency was infuriating.

He shrugged his shoulders. “He was. I don't know if he's still there.”

“I just need to talk to him. If he's not there, I'll come right back out.”

He grunted, then let me pass into the steaming club.

At first, I couldn't see anyone—the lights inside were red and flashed around the room at a frenetic pace. My heart matched the bass beat for beat as I looked for Creed. He would be at least a head taller than anyone else.

I thought I saw the guy from the EMP—so this was the show Creed was talking about, the reason the guy let us in for free? I would have to ask him later what kind of connections he had in the Seattle underground music scene. More than I realized.

As I scanned the crowd I saw a face I knew, but it wasn't the one I was looking for.

My pulse went from screaming to slow motion at seeing that face.

Asher
.

I started to wonder if maybe it was me who had taken a sniff of something back at Julian's, if I was falling down a rabbit hole and into a nightmare.

And next to Asher was Neeta.

They stood together in the red half-light, looking exactly the same as they did six months ago when we all came here together, like the past and present and future and chaos were all colliding.

All of the air sucked out of the room, my lungs in an iron cage.

The crow charm bracelet seemed to tighten around my wrist.
Little bird
. Unable to fly. The gods of the underworld would recognize me in its grip.

I had nowhere else to go. I spun around and straight into a familiar chest, a body I knew and a soul I wanted to.

It was Creed. I fell into his arms, crying, gasping for air, as if everything in my entire body were breaking.